


Golden Boy

by Kalee60



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys Being Boys, Castiel in Charge, Chef Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Sex, Lack of Communication, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Top Castiel, Under-negotiated Kink, Waiter Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60
Summary: Dean thought helping Ellen out at her bar on his evenings off, would be a great way to earn a little extra cash. He was adept at pouring drinks, could manage to serve food (without it falling off the plate) and was the perfect candidate to be sworn at in Russian by the surly new cook, endlessly.Castiel (douche) Novak was clearly put on this earth to frustrate the hell out of Dean. He was rude, obnoxious, irritable and hands down the sexiest man Dean had ever laid eyes on.As temperatures soared in and out of the kitchen, Dean soon learnt there was a fine line between wanting to kill someone, and needing to kiss them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this little story came about after going out with friends and being inspired by our waiter.
> 
> Friend: this guy is great, funny, charming and I bet everyone here loves working with him.  
> Me: Ha, I bet everyone does except the chef, who's had a massive crush on him since day one and hates him by default, because there is no way this popular waiter would ever date him…  
> Friend: there's a fanfic there...  
> Me: *writes furiously
> 
> The biggest thanks goes out to my amazingly wonderful beta, darter_blue who without her guidance and real life friendship these stories would never see the light of day. (Oh, she was the friend at dinner - and go check out her amazing fictions, you won't regret it!)
> 
> And the title - well of course, the name of the restaurant!

Dean was about to quit. _Fuck this shit,_ he was too old and too tired (at the ripe old age of 25) to deal with a surly cook who refused to string a sentence together and communicate, no matter how absolutely fuckable they were when they _did_ decide to mutter words. The voice, the cadence, the absolutely sinful way they drawled Dean’s name was pure sex. Pity it wasn’t directed at Dean in that way - it was generally in disdain. And by generally, he meant - always.

‘Dean, no! Dean, stop! Dean, (loud eyeroll),’ it was enough to make any mild-mannered waiter walk out half way through their shift. He didn’t - but he was hanging on by a mere thread.

He owed it to Ellen - _hell_ , he owed more than he cared to admit to her, so Dean stood silently in front of Castiel _fucking_ Novak, while said cook threw a litany of Russian profanity at him. (It was definitely _not_ the hottest end of a one sided screaming fit he'd been involved in) especially considering Castiel didn’t have an accent nor was he from Russia. When Castiel decided it was time to take a breath, he slammed a tuscan lamb burger with mint dip and sweet potato fries at Dean.

“Go…” then he shooed - actually shooed Dean out of the kitchen.

“Cas, man - seriously… you can't..”

“It's Castiel.” The clipped retort brokered no room for rebuttal.

Dean huffed, loud enough to be heard over the deep fryer or so he hoped). There was no reaction from the blue eyed cook so he decided to take comfort in the fact that at least it was hot as hell in the kitchen and Cas (not Castiel) would no doubt be suffering and uncomfortable. Though, as Dean used his back on the swinging door to the bar, he caught the brunette watching him, cheeks flushed from the heat, sweat pearling on his forehead and eyes sharp and considered before he grimaced and turned back to plate up the next meal.

 

Dean fucking hated the nights he had to work the kitchen. How could such an arrogant _cock_ make such mouth watering food? _Stop thinking with your stomach, and stop thinking about cock too while you're at it._

“Winchester! need you on the bar for an hour,” Ellen called across the heaving throng of patrons. It was Friday night and the after work crowd was getting a little rowdy. Dean jumped straight into pouring drinks, a blue eyed woman wanting a vodka soda appealing to him on many levels.

“Bout time Princess, where were you?” A bright redhead hipped him out of the way as she leant up to get a measure of whiskey. A quick smile and a wink had him grinning.

“His lordship required a burger delivered, pronto.” He grabbed the next order and spun to miss Garth, the other barman, who was whistling an AC/DC song - completely out of tune.

“Aww, I bet he likes having you at his beck and call.”

“Fuck off, Charlie, I’m going to hide his bloody bell one day,” Dean responded, and began to work the other end of the bar, ignoring her sharp bark of laughter. He flung a wet tea-towel at the redhead, earning a returning smirk - he knew they were good.

Ellen had called Dean out of the blue a few weeks earlier - asking if he was interested in making some extra cash after hours. Dean, always needing money for a rainy day, could hardly refuse. That, and the fact that Ellen and Bobby had basically raised him and Sammy. If she asked him to swim a river full of piranhas just to come over for coffee, he would do it in a heartbeat. More so, if she had cookies on offer to go with it.

The Roadhouse had been struggling, losing money week after week, until some random drifter turned up, asking for a job at minimum wage somehow blowing Ellen’s small business out of the ballpark when she discovered him creating burgers and flavoured wings in the kitchen after hours. Now they couldn’t keep up with the demand. It was Ellen’s daughter Jo who’d suggested they hire extra help - enter Dean, jack-of-all trades, who knew his way around a kitchen (and an alcoholic drink or two) and Sammy, who helped Ellen balance the books - _after_ he’d finished his homework..

Though Dean managed an auto parts shop on the edge of town during the day, he also worked on muscle cars for fun on the weekends - he had an eye for restoration, and made good money from it. So he didn't _need_ to work at the Roadhouse and be yelled at on his nights off, but he did it anyway - it was the family business and all.

 

The night thankfully went quick. He was only called in to help deliver a few more dishes, ignored each and every time - except the last. Being berated due to forgetting sauce bowls for a customer who asked for them on the side was only _slightly_ humiliating.

As Castiel stalked towards him (because Dean wasn’t listening apparently, it _was_ about bloody sauce after all) he realised abruptly that Castiel was actually shorter than him, marginally, but enough to make Dean straighten up. He couldn’t help the wide grin as he looked down his nose at the other man. In turn Castiel snarled and ran a shaky hand through his brunette hair in frustration. The movement stole Dean’s gaze as Cas’s bicep curled, and fuck - he was _built_. Dean assumed this was from working in the kitchen, as heavy lifting was part and parcel of the job. And of course, there was the running. Dean had caught him pounding the pavement early in the mornings on his way to the auto shop - he’d never returned Deans jaunty and slightly awkward waves. But Dean still waved - it was the polite thing to do after all - it was the Kansas in him.

 

“Listen to me!” Castiel poked Dean’s chest hard, which made him inhale sharply - the blossoming bruise sensation not unpleasant. They both stilled a moment, and for the barest of seconds, Dean shut his eyes,  somehow managing to grab Castiel’s finger before he could make contact again. Dean snarled, his anger acute and burning at the man before him. He could feel the waves of intense fury being returned in kind.

“Dean, Mom needs you for a tic in the bar. Uh... everything OK here?” Jo’s voice rose a pitch on her last words.

“Peachy,” Dean spat as he flung Castiel’s hand away and stalked out the kitchen - leaving the slamming of pots and pans in his wake. The man was insufferable, hot _as fuck_ , but absolutely insufferable.

 

**

 

It was the last home game in town for the local football team and the Roadhouse was rocking. Dean started early to help out, even foregoing working on a 70’ Pontiac GTO for more cash than he'd earn in almost 3 months of tips. He'd been running all night, much to his chagrin, and a thick sheen of sweat covered him. Dean shrugged off his checked outer layer, leaving the dark green, tighter-than-he'd-like t shirt underneath. He rolled the already short sleeves up as far as they'd go and, judging by some of the tips he was getting from the patrons, it was well worth the humiliating catcalls Jo, Charlie and Garth were throwing his way. Clearly they were jealous of his mounting pile of money _\- well all 60 bucks of it._

The best thing about working 4 hours straight in the bar, meant he'd managed to avoid the kitchen, though if he were being honest with himself (which he seldom was) he kind of missed Castiel's attitude and the snark which oft came with it. _Masochist._

The few glimpses he'd had into the hot-box (where the magic that was food appeared), made Dean grimace and almost feel sorry for everyone stuck in there. Castiel looked as if he'd literally just stepped out of a swimming pool. Over the next hour of occasionally spying Cas’s muscled and wet figure through the swinging door, Dean noticed the mans drawn expression, unusual for somebody who never seemed to tire. Without thought, Dean grabbed a jug of iced lemonade, adding fresh cut lemons to it. He knew the cold, tang and bubbles would help in the unbearable heat. He was patently _not_ wondering why he was doing this nice thing for the man borne of wrath, but he did it with a shrug and resolve he'd dug up from somewhere.

Dean wasn't quite stupid enough to deliver it himself though - Charlie received _that_ pleasure. Judging by the look he was presented with when Charlie returned, she'd told Cas who had done the good deed. The kitchen door swung open and blue eyes locked to the green of Dean’s, the air in his lungs vanishing as Castiel's gaze lowered to Dean’s straining t-shirt and back up again, a stupidly gorgeous brow rising mockingly before the door finally came to a halt and shut. _God damn it, Dean, lust over appropriate people, not douchebags who make you want to gamma out and smash things._

“He said he's allergic to lemons,” the beaming smile splitting Charlie’s face said she was clearly getting much more out of this than she had any right to _._

“The fuck he is,” Dean retorted, “ass-hat. He can get his own damn drinks in future then.”

“Touchy, Winchester. He's just winding you up.”

“ _No_ , he's just a dick.”

Charlie laughed at Deans scowl, so he ignored her for the rest of the night as well.

 

**

 

Things only went downhill the next week, when Dean found himself doing dish-pig duties on a Thursday night. It wasn’t a hard job in the slightest (even though he’d always hated dishes as a kid) but he was in no mood to be in close proximity to Cas - especially not after the day he’d had at his ‘real’ job. The big boss had come down from their National Office with his regional manager to check out how the store was going - it was doing just fine - but apparently _could_ be doing better. He’d spent the remainder of the day stuck in an office talking strategy and being passively aggressively put down by Dick Roman - who, true to his name, was an absolute…

“Dean!” Castiel all but barrelled into him with a boiling pot of water which he flung down the sink,  “I said _watch_ it.”

“Fucking hell - you could have taken a layer of skin off - moron.” The flash of pure irritation on Castiel’s face made Dean feel better for some reason. He could at least get a reaction here and speak his mind without fear of losing his job. “Has anyone ever told you-”

Cas held a finger up in the universal gesture of shush. Dean wasn’t having a bar of it.

He was seething as he turned to throw another pot into the adjoining sink full of dishes which did not seem to be dissipating at all. It was that or hit the arrogant bastard. “I bet you get off on ordering people around, don't you?”

“No, not _all_ people.”

Dean spun, shocked, suds slopping on the floor as he belatedly realised he was holding a pan which _was_ full of water. The floor was now doing a piss-poor job of holding it.

“...what…?” his voice cracked.

Cas didn't answer him, he just barked at Jo who had the unfortunate timing of walking into the kitchen at that moment. She gave Dean a pointed look as she grabbed the next burger order and fled. Dean continued to stare helplessly, heart pounding with something, something a lot like realisation - but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was and why it was making him feel janky. He wasn’t able to tear his gaze away as Cas took a hot tray out of the oven, the flush on the brunettes face had to be from the heat - _yes? Christ, if not - Dean was screwed._

They exchanged barely more than a few words for the rest of the shift, and for the first time since he’d been working at the Roadhouse, Castiel left before clean up had finished. Luckily Jo stuck around to help.

“Fucking Cas is such an ass - leaving early like that.” Dean didn’t admit he was glad he'd gone though. The tension held low in his gut at the thought of Castiel liking to dominate was just about killing him. Was Dean in the category of not _all_ people?

“He got a call before. Something about... family... I think. Anyway, he had to go.”

Dean frowned down into the dirty water and grabbed the plug to refill the sink as his thoughts stuttered to a halt. Turning the taps and waiting was all muscle memory while Jo chattered on about a customer trying to steal the jar of cocktail onions from behind the bar. Dean's mind, meanwhile, was stuck on the word _family_ . He’d assumed Cas didn’t have any. _Who was the dick now?_ Of _course_ Cas had family - he had to come from _somewhere_. But this strange curiosity welling in Dean about Cas and his past was new.

“Well, I'm glad he skipped out. He can’t stand me and makes sure I bloody know it - thirty times a night.” His words came out sounding whinier than he’d hoped, and also a little like a lie.

“Dean, are you dead set shitting me? You are so absolutely clueless, you are the only one who can get a civil word out of him in the kitchen.”

A noise of pure scoff left Dean’s chest and Jo gave him the side-eye, he'd best watch his step, he knew first hand about Jo and her ability to snap a man's neck from just willing it so.

He drew a deep breath, “Jo, he's done nothing but bark singular words at me on how awful I am as a server, how inept I am at keeping bloody hot chips on a plate, though in my defence when you pile them so freaking high you are bound to lose some in transit. He's also berated me to no end on how I massacre a ‘Moscow Mule’. Seriously Jo, you can't fuck that up, it's just ginger ale, fresh lime and a butt load of vodka!”

“Dean,” Jo warned and he remained silent for a beat, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks no one is watching him.”

His chest pulsed, “Now I know you're messing with me, I'm the new guy at the Roadhouse, you're fucking with me so I look like a dick, I’ve known you too long, _Joanna-Beth,_ to fall for your shit.” Dean didn't want to entertain the slim thought that Cas might actually find him somewhat attractive. Men like Cas, with gut clenchingly deep voices, paired with cerulean blue eyes, unsurpassed talent in the kitchen (and if that wasn't the biggest turn on, then what was?) backed up with anger to spare in spades and as mysterious as fuck, could never possibly find a store manager who tinkered with cars and waited tables on the weekend interesting enough to… What, fuck? Dare he hope, like? Not from what he'd seen so far anyway. Castiel's obvious disdain for Dean was becoming legendary in the Roadhouse. Dean really didn’t know what he’d done to collect this hatred from Cas, but to be fair, he didn’t particularly help the situation,enjoying firing back a little too much. It was a game of sorts - maybe he had taken it too far though.

 

“If you ask me - I think you’re totally Castiel's type…” Jo continued as she scrubbed at the second to last pot, one Dean had been ‘soaking’ in the hopes that he wouldn't have to clean it.

“Ha! what, I just take it? How in hell would you know his type?” He joked, pushing aside the strange lightness he felt in his belly, one that was starting to move about. He either had indigestion from his hastily eaten burrito or he was a twelve year old girl getting a case of the butterflies for the first time.

“From what I’ve seen over the last 6 months, Cas doesn't date. _Ever_. I don’t think he looks at people the same way we do. Maybe he isn't wired that way. You know he’s actually a really nice, quiet guy when you get him away from the kitchen. But yeah, he cooks, he most likely studies judging by the books he lugs around, he definitely plays a mean game of poker, cleared Garth and Bobby out a few weeks ago, and probably does whatever else an almost thirty year old does in their spare time.”

“Watch porn,” Dean supplied unhelpfully as his dick twitched in interest. _Down boy._

 _“_ We are not all _you_ , Dean.” Jo huffed as she practically stuck her head in the immense pot, scrubbing. Dean almost felt bad for leaving it to soak… almost. He wondered why he’d never seen Cas outside of the kitchen, their only interactions happened in this room, where temperatures and emotions ran hotter than hell. Jo cursed, pulling Dean from his musing. She looked forlornly at a single red nail on her left hand which was now broken and hanging like a small, defiant, half moon. “God damn mother...urgh, I just paid like twenty bucks to get these done.”

Dean made the appropriate noise of concern, concern he may need to finish scrubbing the pot, he’d had a feeling it would come back to bite him, ‘soaking’ never worked with his mum either.

Much later that night as Dean's dick softened after an intense hand job (where Castiel had somehow crept into his mind to bark orders at him), he couldn’t get Jo’s words out of his head. Maybe, just maybe Cas _didn’t_ loathe him.

 

**

 

Dean grinned through his teeth, realising at the last minute it was more a grimace than intended. He'd made a promise to himself, he was going to treat Castiel nicely. He also wasn't going to arc up at him and they _would_ speak in civil tones to each other. What sounded like a solid plan in theory, was almost freaking impossible to carry out in practise though. Castiel didn't give a rat's ass that Dean was trying to be nice, _hell_ , he probably didn't even notice the change - that would be because Cas had his head so far up his own ass at all times. This was confirmed when he stepped on Dean's foot for the seventh time. In three minutes.

“Move!” Castiel yelled. Dean held his tongue in check while he obediently stepped to the side, though it grated on his very last nerve. _Quit it - you said you'd try._

Instead of charging through Dean like usual, he hesitated, before pouring out the pasta into a colander. The steam rose up around him, engulfing his torso and face, before his eyes flicked ever so quickly Deans way - the first acknowledgement to not be covered in sarcasm or beration. As the steam dissipated, Dean almost fell over when, spying what could only be described as an upwards tilt to the man's mouth. _Why-oh-why_ did he look at the slightly chapped pinkness? Suddenly he was imagining those lips stretched over his cock… and Dean walked away ignoring Castiel’s sharp look. He couldn’t stand next to the man and think those thoughts - he might do something stupid like, what? Proposition him? _Oh hey Cas, fancy taking me apart with your tongue - you can tie me up too if you’d like -_ no - not happening.

The night continued on like this, Castiel barking orders and Dean (not so meekly) abiding by them. He even asked Cas how his week had been, in return receiving a look of scorn and three words, “I was here.”

It was hard to keep the conversation going after that, especially as Dean was beginning to snap back, so he made to leave and see if Ellen wanted help in the bar.

“Dean.” The throaty word was thrown at his back before he could escape through the door. Dean turned slowly, his hand scratching the back of his neck, nervous at being a hundred percent under Castiel’s rather intense gaze. He’d never seen such a crazy (gorgeous) shade of blue in anyone’s eyes before, it was hard to look away. The brunette coughed and gestured to a plate containing three sliders only to turn back around while Dean’s face heated at being caught gaping.

“Yeah sure, who are they for, _Cas_?” Dean snarked sarcastically, annoyed that he couldn’t just ask Dean politely to take out the last dish of the night. Especially as Dean had been on his best behaviour all evening.

He received a sharp glare and a raised eyebrow, Cas was pissed at the nickname but holding it in, “Table five.”

Dean saluted before he picked up the plate, grumbling that he wasn’t a slave - _sure_ , he was being paid to take out food, but for the love of Christ, couldn’t Cas ask him to do something with a smile? Dean stilled as he realised he’d never actually seen the cook laugh or give a genuine megawatt smile. Not for the first time, he wondered what the other man’s story was. Then flicked it off - _who cared?_ He allowed the lie to stick.

When he got to table five he could have turned around, stormed back into the kitchen and thrown the food at Castiel - there was no one at table five, nor anyone waiting for sliders anywhere else.

“Ah, good - I see Castiel is looking after you. He was saying you haven’t had a break all night. Sit, eat - I’ll bring you a soda. It’s going to be a late one at the bar - kitchens shutting up now.” Ellen turned on her heel and returned moments later with a cola. Dean, in all of that time, sat looking at the sliders - feeling like an absolute heel at the way he’d spoken to Cas, considering that only a week earlier he’d been the one to extend a lemonade branch of peace (not that _that_ ended well either). Time to apologise - but after food. He'd been eyeing off the slider creations Cas had been making all night. Apparently the cook had noticed too.

By the time Dean made it back to the kitchen it was empty. Lights off, no irate man to be found. Dean washed his plate and resolved to say something the next day.

 

**

 

Clearly the half truce of the last week or so was no longer in effect. Castiel was harsher and more belittling with his words than Dean had ever seen - with everyone, but especially him.

He was ready to walk.

The last straw came when Cas crowded up in his space digging his knee into the back of Dean's and making him lose his balance. Whether it was on purpose or not, Dean didn't give a fuck. _Over and out._

“Get out of my space, asshole,” Dean tugged his apron off and threw it on the floor, then, impossibly, he was pushed against the sink.

Dean swallowed thickly, his saliva suddenly taking up more room than necessary as Cas’s hand aggressively pressed against the small of his back. _This should not feel as good as it does._

“You. Pantry. Now.”

“What the hell?” Dean argued, “I didn’t do-”

Castiel’s eyes flared, “Now.”

Dean found his body responding to the curt order. _What the hell did Cas want with him in the damn pantry?_

He led the way to the small space and scooted inside, it had just enough room for them to stand. Lucky Dean wasn't claustrophobic. But another issue arose almost immediately, Cas was close, very close. _Well fuck._ Little Dean liked this, a little too much. _Don’t get hard - please don’t get…_

_Shit..._

Cas stopped short when he realised how small of a distance separated them, his brows drew together while his eyes sparked with something indefinable. Dean held his breath.

“For weeks, you've...” Cas ran a hand through his hair in frustration, the brunette strands a chaos of mess Dean was helpless to look away from. “you've…”

Cas stopped and watched Dean intently, a look of almost pain on his features. His words trailed off once more, lost in the small space. Nobody moved. Dean inhaled sharply, heart hammering and palms slick and sweaty, _bloody hell, don't grab Cas now, he'll think you've just stuck your hand in pineapple juice. Though… Wasn't pineapple juice supposed to make certain ‘bodily fluids’ more palatable? Not the time, Dean - not when you’re half hard already._

A string of incomprehensible Russian left the cook and Dean wavered helplessly, eyes crinkled in question, then he heard a snippet of English, something about ‘driving and crazy’. He was too lost in the heat and confusion of the moment to even try and decipher what was going on, “Cas. Castiel - I honestly have no idea what I've done to make you hate me and…” he was cut off mid sentence by an armful of brunette.

“Not hate…” Cas managed to say before his mouth greedily pressed against his own. Heat rocketed through Dean as their teeth clacked for a second before the softness of lips moved over his, inadvertently frying a circuit in his brain. Dean, for all his fervent fantasies of this _very_ moment, almost missed his opportunity. Clearly he'd not responded in kind - due to his utter shock that Cas _didn’t infact_ hate him followed up by the unsuspecting kiss, and Cas gave a slight hesitation and began to pull away.

“Oh no you don't.” Dean chased the heat of Castiel's mouth and pushed himself tautly against the prickly man, determined not to let him escape that easily.

Dean was soon lost in sensation. Castiel’s hand slid around and cupped the back of Dean’s head, yanking him impossibly close. He groaned into Castiel’s open mouth, tongues tangled and slipping over each other. It was unparalleled.

Then Castiel broke the connection and Dean felt a humiliating whimper leave his mouth, earning a smirk from the brunette. Unexpectedly Dean was manhandled into a spin, throwing out an arm to buffer the shelf before him else he face plant into it. He grunted when his wrist painfully made contact with the wooden structure. Before he could yelp or yell at Cas for being a forceful dick (which he really didn’t want to, he kind of loved it), a hand slipped around his waist and deft fingers had his jeans undone and pulled over his ass in seconds. It was whiplash, one second he was being kissed senseless, the next, pants around his ankles and a questing hand sliding into his underwear - which were similarly disposed of in a second. Cas was way too good at this. Exposed to the cool air, Dean had no fucking idea how he was ever going to walk in here to get pickles again without thinking of this absolutely surreal experience.

Castiel’s grip on his cock was firm and so unlike his own touch, and coupled with the heat of body warmth on his back and a nip of teeth at his shoulder - he shuddered into Cas’s hand.

“Fuck, “ he managed to enunciate. Well, hoped he managed.

“No time,” the small whisper in his ear as a tongue traced the shell, making Dean once more buck into the brunettes grip. His entire being was off kilter, thoughts flitting over themselves, then the sharp smell of coconut overpowered his senses, “what?” he belatedly murmured.

Slickness engulfed his hardness. Castiel had somehow opened the coconut oil and was using it as a lubricant - _fucking hell._

Dean was _not_ going to last - he couldn’t, not like this.

Castiel stroked with a firm grip, hand popping off the end of Dean’s eager cock ever so teasingly, making his knees buckle. Cas pushed firmer against him so Dean had no room to fall. Small grunts punched from his chest as Cas increased his speed and rhythm, starting to twist his wrist. “Jesus Christ,” the words torn from Dean’s throat as his hips began to buck unconsciously in time to the relentless strokes. Hot, open mouthed kisses interspersed with Russian words pressed against his sweaty neck, and Dean threw his head back, catching Castiel’s lips as he came with a shout - white stripes jerked from his body, hitting the floor.

Dean’s body convulsed with aftershocks while Cas gripped him lightly, thumb running tight circles over his slowly softening cock, essentially milking every drop from him.

“Well I wasn't expecting that.” Dean huffed tiredly, wanting to curl up and sleep all of a sudden, or have a cigarette (though he’d never smoked), he wasn't sure which way was up. One thing he was sure of though, he desperately needed that to happen again.

 

_**_

 

The world hadn't changed, much to Dean’s amazement, it hadn't blown up or been affected by what had just occurred in the Roadhouse’s pantry. Nor were any of the other staff pointing and whispering about how seconds ago Dean had come in Castiel’s slick palm, making him light headed and, to be honest a little , _no_ \- a lot - shaky. If anything, they looked sorry for him, like he'd just been put through a torment of sorts. _Weird._ He didn't think much on it as his toes still tingled in the aftermath from the hottest orgasm of his life. Castiel exited the pantry, elbowing Dean out of the way (as he hadn't managed to make it more than a step outside the small room). Castiel ignored Dean's half attempt to gasp coherent words at him - _he really needed to work on his verbalisation._

Within two seconds of being back in the kitchen, Dean realised Castiel was not going to acknowledge what had happened. He didn't even look at Dean. _Fucking hell, how could he not - oh crap_ \- Dean realised he didn't offer to reciprocate. _What are you? A 17 year old who'd never been jerked off before?_ Castiel had made him forget his manly sexual prowess.

“Did he go hard on you?” Jo whispered out the corner of her mouth, and Dean dropped the plate (thankfully empty) he was holding. It clattered loud earning him a look from the others in the room, all but Cas.

“Uh, well - how the hell…?” did he have a freaking telltale afterglow?

She smiled softly, “always catches you off guard the first time.”

Dean's eyes bugged, his chest heaved with something indefinably heavy. “The first time?” He managed to say curtly, trying not to imagine strangling Jo and hiding the body.

“Yeah, I've been accosted like twenty times, plus - its the new normal…”

“New… Normal…” he trailed off.

“Garth's copped it the worst though... Can you smell coconut?”

Dean straight up walked out of the kitchen. He just could not fathom Castiel and _Garth_.

Ellen took pity on him and put him to work behind the bar for clean up instead.

“Heard you got the treatment from Castiel.”

“Son of a bitch, has he taken everyone in the bloody pantry?” Dean couldn't help exploding, the edge in his voice earning a sharp look of rebuke from Ellen.

“Look, I know I should have warned you first - and I know he's hard to manage and slightly unorthodox,” she ignored Deans grunt of disbelief, “ but he's the best damn thing to happen to this place. We’re finally in the black - and if he wants to take staff into the pantry to yell and rant at them, so be it, everyone knows how to take his anger now. Plus he's an angel when he’s not cooking.”

“Yell and rant? Anger?” Dean mimicked, the tightness in his chest abating at a slow pace at those words. An angel, he wasn’t sure about, but he was a fucking _God_ with his hands.

“Well yes, Dean what did you think I meant - oh hell, he didn't slap you did he? Get physical? Now that's taking it too far...”

Dean shivered and the hair on his arms stood up at the thought of Castiel’s hand coming down hard on him, _well fuck,_ that confirmed his new kink. “Uh, no all good, no contact.” he garbled. _Pity though._

Ellen gave him a warm smile, the kind only a surrogate mother could, patting him on the shoulder and leaving.

By the time the kitchen staff came out for after shift drinks, they told Dean Cas had already left and he didn't have to worry about being screamed at again.

Dean was unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but had to grab his bag from the lockers anyway. He waved off drinks as Garth made a round of tequila sunrises, and walked into the dimly lit kitchen. As Dean rounded the corner to the staff niche, he ran directly into a solid chest, the solid _naked_ chest, attached to Cas.

“Whoa, sorry. Did _not_ see you there.” Dean hungrily eyed the slightly shorter mans torso, eyes dragging inch by glorious inch across the light skin dusted with hair. He felt his body sway towards the still-quiet cook.

“Dean,” his name an octave lower, thick like molasses between them, “Can you please back up so I can put my shirt on?”

It was the most words in a row Castiel had ever said (and not screamed) to him, and the politest - _huh_. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Dean was infinitely glad he hadn't shouted ‘no, I don't think so,’ and instead stepped back a half pace and watched silently (albeit probably a little creepily) as the brunette pulled an Iron Maiden tour t-shirt on. Dean was officially in love.

Castiel huffed out what _could_ be described as a fond chuckle and placed a hand on Dean's chest to push him further out of the way until Dean hit the bench behind him. His hip dug into the clean metal and he knew he’d stopped breathing. Castiel's eyes widened almost indecipherably at the reaction, and he pushed a little harder. Dean had nowhere to go,  his small whimper as loud as church bells pealing on a Sunday. Cas dropped his hand and looked at Dean in astonishment.

“Cas?” _Was that his ragged voice?_

“You were, uh… you were still in front of my locker,” was the deep response and Dean let out a shaky breath - _oh_.

Castiel grabbed the rest of his things and shut the door with a snick. Dean held his breath, the air thick with tension, the thought of Cas pushing him, ordering him in that voice and _fuck,_ touching him skin on skin again, undid any game he’d fooled himself into thinking he had. Dean was beyond rock hard, his skin flushed as heat climb higher and higher across his cheekbones.

Castiel noticed, his gaze dropping to Deans tenting pants then back up to his eyes. His smirk indescribably hot.

Suddenly, Cas fell to his knees and Dean just about squealed as hot breath and pressure nudged against his dick through his jeans. His body thrummed in desire, want and need. As soon as the pressure started it disappeared and Castiel was standing before Dean, snapping his fingers. _Fuck_ , he'd spaced out for more time than strictly normal (if Cas’s amused grin was anything to go by, and that should be outlawed - Castiel smiling was down right illegal). His entire demeanour changed, he looked lighter, younger - free of demons.

Dean watched in growing frustration as Castiel swung his belongings onto his back and started to walk out, no  acknowledgment of what was happening between them.

“Hey, man, what the hell?” Dean snarked, annoyed at the tone of longing not well hidden in his words.

“Next time,” Cas threw over his shoulder as he left, kitchen door slamming. Dean could only stand, half hard with the promise of next time rebounding in his mind. He managed to get his racing heart back to normalcy and stole out the back door before the others could see him, disheveled, hard, with a shit eating grin on his face. And if the pantry was missing a tin of pure pineapple juice - well they could just blame Todd the cleaner again.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks. It had been three weeks and Castiel had  _ still _ not acknowledged the pivotal moment that had changed Deans perception of sex - and pantries. Sure, there were heated exchanges between them, but Dean couldn't tell if they were unusual exchanges or if he was just reading more into it. Cas had said he didn’t ‘hate’ Dean, but clearly he didn’t  _ like _ him either. Dean's mind was a tangle of badly thought out scenarios and half wondered ideals on how Cas and this relationship of sorts would proceed. But, a new idea was starting to stick. Was the pantry incident a once off? It couldn’t be, he _ wouldn’t  _ let it be - Cas had clearly said ‘next time’. But when would that be - 2080? Dean was well within his rights to be wary, but how was he supposed to bring it up without looking like a needy loser. Especially when Cas was potentially completely disinterested? Self preservation kicked in and Dean really didn’t want to be shot down.  _ Chicken-shit. _

“Hey bud! What’s got you down?” Charlie sidled up to Dean, nudging him with her hip. The bar was quiet and Dean had once again escaped from the kitchen, unable to take his eyes away from Castiel's sweat soaked form. He was  _ that _ close to running a hand up the back of the cooks t-shirt - just to feel the muscles he knew were hidden under the soft fabric.  _ That, _ probably the only regret he had from the pantry incident, that he hadn’t gotten a chance to touch in return. Dean's fingers twitched, so he gripped a freshly washed glass tightly to stop the jittery movement and began to wipe it over.

“Not a thing, Charles.” he lied, then grinned for good measure, “how’s Dot?”

Charlie flushed and Dean’s grin went from forced to genuine, “good, she’s - yeah - we’re good.”

“Atta girl.” He was happy for Charlie - he really was, but the soft grin on her face gave him a pang. He was only being melancholy, he didn’t want that goofy feeling,  _ did he? _ Dean had always lone-wolfed it, getting pleasure where and when he want, always in control. His thoughts stopped as the kitchen door swung open. Jo slipped out, arms ladened with plates as she efficiently served customers, and Dean’s gaze caught a glimpse of Cas.  _ Control _ ...

“Maybe you should talk to him.”

Charlie’s words were enough to shake Dean from his funk, and he looked down into her seemingly innocent face, “huh?” 

“You’ve clearly had a big fight, you’ve always sniped at each other, but it was amusing before, now it’s just awkward. Be the bigger man and chat to him.” Charlie patted his back, squeezing his shoulder before going to pour one of their regular patrons a beer, her grin and cheeky attitude garnering an immediate response from them. Dean was rooted to the spot,  _ fuck _ . If Charlie had noticed something amiss, then that meant Jo definitely did, and he did  _ not _ want to contend with her shit. 

At the conclusion of his shift, Dean went to collect his things - meaning he could man up and speak to Castiel, _maybe_. The lights were on and he could see the kitchen had been cleaned, only the floor needed a quick mop, so Cas was definitely around. Dean headed towards the lockers, passing the pantry on his way. His dick clearly had memories of its own, twitching as he walked past the door. _Have some self-control,_ _man_.

A low harsh voice stopped him, he knew it well and was about to whinge that he hadn't even made it around the corner before Cas was bitching at him, when he realised the brunette was not actually talking to him, but on the phone. His back was to Dean, an arm rested above his head as he leaned into the wall. W _ ell fuck - that just made his ass look all kinds of perfect _ .

“I said, no.” Castiel's deep voice cracked like a whip. “I don't want to see you. Not now…”

Cas trailed off and Deans entire reason for walking into the kitchen was now scrambled. He _ knew _ listening in was beyond rude, but he just couldn’t walk away. Well he could, he just didn't  _ want _ to. Who didn't Cas want to see? An ex? A current lover? The possibilities had Dean's stomach churning.

A few deep sighs punctuated the area before a growl leapt from Castiel's throat, “well,  _ I'm _ not ready - Artiçunos can fuck themselves and find a new chef.”

Dean had to leave, there was no excuse, no lie big enough to justify listening in - except his rampant curiosity, and he didn’t think that would cut it if caught. Artiçunos was old money, a restaurant in New York Dean wouldn't be able to afford to dine at, even  _ with _ a years worth of wages in his wallet (he knew all of this thanks to his non-negotiable subscription to the food network). Was that where Cas had worked prior to the Roadhouse? That was one hell of a pay cut…Though it  _ would _ explain the masterful food Cas created,  _ and _ the bad attitude, especially if he was used to people fawning over him and jumping at his every command. Dean took in a breath, because right now, in this moment, if Dean were caught, then whatever fragile ‘thing’ they had going would be shattered. But Dean's half step back, was ultimately his undoing, when his heel caught the mop bucket and -  _ oh fuckity fuck. _

Castiel spun at the rukus, brows drawn tight in fury. When their eyes eventually met, Dean saw something troubled, something uncertain, behind the heat. It was gone in an instant. “I've got to go.”

Cas lowered the phone, body visibly tense and unyielding, “what did you hear?”

Dean who still held his blue gaze, did the only thing he could think of and dropped it, ducking his chin in the process, “not a thing, Cas, uh, Castiel.” 

Somehow at all of 6 foot tall, he attempted to make himself smaller. He hoped like hell Cas would take what he needed from it.

He heard a sharp breath underpinned by inaudible words, and Dean was just thankful the mumbling was softer than a knife blade -  _ just _ . A rumble of discontent filled the space between them before Cas slammed his locker shut, walking past Dean, clipping his shoulder in the process. “You can mop.”

“Sure,” Dean all but muttered as the man stormed past.

When the back door slammed, Dean’s chest loosened and annoyance began to flow through him. He'd fucking just  _ flipped _ over and showed his belly to the beast. Whatever happened to ‘stand your ground’, something his dad had instilled in him as a child before the accident claimed him? A small modicum of shame flushed through him before his unhelpful mind replayed Castiel's conversation. It had to be a co-worker, or a boss?  _ But, _ it still could have been a personal attachment of some sort. Whoever it was had wanted to see the brunette, and he wasn't having it. It hit Dean in that second, no one  _ really _ knew anything about Castiel's past, but having a lover, past or present, well  _ that _ Dean could imagine. The man was walking sex,  _ hell _ , he probably had  _ more _ than one lover on the go. Dean couldn't help wonder what kind of a goddamn mess he’d inadvertently gotten himself involved in. On the heels of that thought was a selfish one -  _ did that mean he and Cas were done, even though they hadn't even started? _

On his way out to mop the floor he punched a bag of flour in a fit of irritation, copping a face full of white powder for his effort, “son of a fucking bitch!”

 

**

 

A few nights later, everything seemed to have settled down and things were back to normal. Normal being, Cas ordering Dean around like an insubordinate cadet then snarking at everything he said. Dean was pleased that overhearing the private conversation hadn’t so far ruined their working relationship (not that he could make head nor tails about what the true intent of the call was) not that they had a stellar working relationship to begin with either. If Cas had given Dean the silent treatment, then he would have been worried, but he was being sworn at in the usual capacity, so? Normal. Now all Dean had to do was work out what the hell was happening in their non-working relationship. So far it equated to a big fat nothing and Dean was getting more frustrated by the day. How could Cas jerk him off so succinctly and never mention it again? Dean was riding a knife's edge, brain warring over saying something or letting it play out. The thought of Castiel's heated breath against his neck, teeth nipping the damp skin as he wanked him to oblivion... “Dean?”

Dean came back into himself as the focus of his very x-rated thoughts asked him something - something he did not catch in the slightest. “Huh?” he managed like an intelligent adult.

Cas watched him a moment, “I honestly can’t fathom that somebody made you a manager.”

“No need to say it like that,” Dean huffed, grabbing the next lot of plates for their hungry customers. “You know, most people  _ actually _ respect me - just not  _ you. _ So what does that say?”

He high fived himself on the inside when he saw Castiel’s cheek twitch, though it could have been stress or anger.

 

They didn’t stop moving for hours, Cas’s menu always brought in a weekend crowd, but tonight they had a twenty first birthday with over a hundred guests in the outdoor garden. It was fully catered for and Dean had to wear his best black pants paired with a pressed white shirt to serve for it, (thankfully Sammy could wield an iron, even though he bitched at Dean to buy a proper outfit and stop using his funeral suit from the 80’s). He had no idea where that kid’s smart mouth came from. Jo also invited a few old school friends to come in and help, Dean's new favourite was Ash, his mullet epic and his taste in music even more so. The birthday was too big for their usual team; which meant Cas was even more on edge with strangers around, attempting to help in the kitchen. Ellen though, just about burst with happiness knowing the Roadhouse could pull off an event of this size, it opened up a whole new avenue of business.

A few hours in, Dean grabbed some water, hip leaning against a bench watching Cas put a flourish of mint on a lamb wood oven pizza.

“A bit of a different pace from New York for you, hey?” Dean took a mouthful of water then felt the curtain of stoney silence after his words. Dean gulped when he realised what he'd let slip out, and all but slapped a hand over his mouth,  _ fuck. _

Cas swung his gaze towards him, pinning him in place - the look heavier than the Chevy Impala Dean drove. The pizza garnishing was forgotten for a moment, “I thought you heard  _ nothing _ ?”

“Uh - well yeah, I mean... It looked like you were about to  _ hit _ me, so I lied... keeping my ass safe and ah, all that.” Dean, for the love of God, basically stammered his words out.

Cas didn't reply straight away, taking a small step towards Dean, crowding his space, and leaning in. Dean’s breath stopped as Cas’s deep raspy voice drawled directly into his ear. “When I get the pleasure of striking your ass Dean, I will do it,  _ with _ your permission, and you'll be begging for it. Not running away from me.”

Dean swallowed thickly, _ oh fuck _ , his dick was hard, so fucking hard. Castiel's eyes flicked down for a moment before his lips rose in a half smile. Dean was gone, 100% done and dusted. Castiel was officially going to cause his death. Death by erection,  _ what a way to go. _

He stole out of the kitchen, needing some fresh air, and also to get back to his job. Ellen did not pay him (much to his dismay) to stand around and be floored by a dirty mouthed cook, who made Dean hard as marble with one sentence. Where could he get a paying job like that?

 

At the end of the night, Dean placed the last of the wine glasses into the industrial cleaner and switched the flood lights off in the garden bar. The solar powered fairy-lights dotting the area making it appear magical, and Dean could see why people loved them. He guessed it gave off a vibe, romantic or otherwise.

He stepped out into the still warm evening, checking his watch -  _ fuck, _ it was after 1am, he was tired as all get out and had a restoration to work on early. For not the first time, he wondered if all this extra shift work at the Roadhouse was worth it.

Dean hurried another round of the garden in the dim lighting - just to see if he’d missed anything. He heard the back door open and shut behind him as he turned a corner to one of the more secluded areas. This one, he would admit, looked great in the lights - vines covered most of the area and it felt like a secret garden.

“That you, Jo? I think we’re good, you can go home now,” Dean called over his shoulder. ‘Make sure Cas doesn’t give you any shit - you did good tonight, no matter what he says.”

“You know what?” rasped  _ definitely  _ not Jo’s voice, “your smart mouth could be used more efficiently.” Dean jumped, eyes wide like he’d been caught with his dad’s porno magazines at the ripe old age of 13. Castiel’s face was half hidden in shadows and Dean couldn’t work out the expression on it. Was he pissed at Dean’s words? Then it hit him, did Cas just say...

“Come here,” Cas’s voice brokered no room for argument and Dean felt a calmness he’d been missing for weeks come over him as he instinctively moved towards the command. Once he was in Castiel’s personal space he waited, what now? “Kneel.”

Dean's heart thumped as he dropped to his knees before Cas, the beats drowning out all other thoughts except wanting to obey the man before him. To not ruin this fragile bubble that currently surrounded them.

“Good work, Dean,” Castiel soothed. Dean’s toes curled in pleasure at the pleased note in the generally arrogant voice. Castiel’s hand reached out and warm fingers carded Dean’s hair. He leant into the movement, hearing a small hum above him. Dean’s cock was painfully hard, it had been since the moment Castiel spoke. He attempted to press his thighs together for a small amount of relieving friction.

“No,” Castiel's fingers curled in his hair, not painful but in warning. Dean stopped all movement, letting out the softest groan,  _ fuck _ this was his calling,  _ this _ was his kink - and he’d had no fucking idea about it. “Not yet.”

Dean looked up at Castiel, having to squint a little. Somehow a slice of light from inside was directly across Dean’s line of vision, he heard a sharp inhalation from Castiel. “Fuck, you’re stunning like this…” 

He then realised the brunette could gaze directly into his eyes, while Dean couldn’t reciprocate. A dark thrill filled him. The hand in his hair slowly moved to his cheek, cupping it gently before moving to catch his jaw tightly, “I want you to suck me, can you do that?”

Dean was hard pressed not to pass out, yet managed a disjointed nod. Castiel hadn't finished with him quite yet, “Dean, I need you to use your words.”

“... Yeah… Yes, yes I want to - so much.”

“That's good, I now want you to squeeze my thigh,” Dean did, as if in a trance. “You're very good at this Dean, now if you want to stop at any point, I need you to squeeze my thigh if you can't ask me with your voice.”

Dean's breath came in staccato bursts, Cas hadn't spoken to him properly in, well, forever - and now his tone, soft, quiet and calming, had Dean in such a heightened sense of disarray, yet everything was also so very painfully clear. He knew Cas was playing it safe, he’d done research - well a quick Google search. Dean never thought he'd be affected by somebody giving him orders,  _ boy _ \- he could not have been  _ more _ wrong. He’d never been a scene person, but he liked to play, to a point. But that was a conversation for another day - right now he wanted the weight of Castiel's hard cock in his mouth, he wanted,  _ no, _ he needed to swallow it down until he made the brunette lose control, just like he done to Dean with only a look. He hummed in agreement while looking up beguilingly, ensuring his eyes were wide and as innocent as possible. Extremely hard when all thoughts racing behind them were anything but.

“Beautiful,” Castiel whispered before unzipping himself, motioning for Dean to finish the work for him. He did, never so eager for anything in his life.

Castiel was uncut, thick, and Dean knew he would taste better than anything he'd ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth. He hesitated, looking up at Castiel face. He couldn't see much through the shadows, but his unspoken query was answered.

“You may use your mouth only.” Dean raised an eyebrow, his only act of defiance before realising he had everything he wanted right in front of him in this moment.  _ Don't fuck this up. _

The tip of Dean’s tongue cupped the head of Castiel's dick and the long sigh from above made Dean's stomach flip as excitement and disbelief coursed through him. How in hell was he going to be able to make Cas come without the use of his hands? The shudder that went through Castiel's body as Dean slid his tongue further along his cock made him realise that he could, in fact, do it easily.

Dean engulfed Castiel's length, slowly letting his tongue swirl, pulling back slightly to ensure everything fit and he didn't choke. Castiel's hands flew back to Dean's head, the touch gentle, yet firm, not quite holding him in place but it grounded Dean in the moment. He pushed against the fat vein which pulsed on the underside of Cas's cock and a groan ripped from the throat above him. Dean grinned, then coughed around his full mouth -  _ concentrate you goob. _

Hands ran through his hair, tightening every time Dean gave an exaggerated twirl of his tongue. All those lollipops he was told would rot his teeth as a kid; well that skill had come into use - finally. Dean stuck his hands under his knees as he knelt, making sure he didn't slip up and accidentally use them, though he wondered what Cas would do to him if he did?  _ Maybe another time…  _ the thought alone had Dean humming in need. Cas clearly appreciated the rumble of Dean's throat if the small thrust of his hips was anything to go by. Dean suddenly  _ had  _ to know what being fucked in the face by Cas would feel like. He began to suck, long deep pulls, enough to concave his cheeks, Cas staggered forward from the force of Dean's inhale. It was exactly what Dean expected to happen.

Dean looked up, knowing his eyes were in the strip of light again and the guttural, ‘fuck’ which was wrung from the man he was currently sucking was worth any discomfort to his knees.

Cas began to thrust, small at first, but the more Dean’s wide eyed gaze reached into the darkness above him, the deeper they went.

“Perfect. Fuck - you’re perfect,” Castiel's hands were shaking slightly, while Dean's chest soared at the ground out words.

Dean allowed Cas’s cock to almost slide all the way out before he managed to gasp out, “more.”

Cas stilled as Dean sucked him back in deep, the tip tickling his tonsils, “you sure?” The words ragged and hopeful, Dean nodded.

He thrust deep, the unexpectedness of the movement made Dean gag a moment before he opened his jaw and took the new fullness in his stride. He ensured his eyes were telling Cas it was fine and to keep going. Dean was going to burst, there was no way he was getting exactly what he wished from Castiel, no way in hell. Winchester's were just _not_ that lucky. But here he was, on his knees for the most gorgeous (and frustrating) man he'd ever met.

Castiel's hands tightened in his hair as his hips began to move in earnest. Dean breathed as much as he could through his nose, hands twitching with the need to grab Castiel's ass and help force his movements. Knowing he couldn't, made it even sweeter. He was in sensory heaven, his legs beginning to numb from the position, eyes watering from the light and the slide of Castiel's gorgeously hard cock over his tongue, into his throat. 

Dean’s deep growl was all it took for Cas to pull out and jerk himself so that white stripes of come streaked over Dean’s face, dripping down his cheek. He stuck his tongue out to catch some of the tangy liquid, annoyed that Cas had pulled out. He hadn't wanted to lose a drop, he was greedy like that. 

A hand gently cupped the back of his head, fingers rubbing soothing circles at the base of his hairline.

“You can't be real,” Dean coughed at Cas’s words, missing his opportunity to respond when the brunette continued, “I want you to jerk yourself off.”

Dean obeyed immediately and sat up on his knees, unbuttoning his pants with shaky hands and pulled everything down. Just before he spat on his hand, Cas spoke again.

“No, wipe your face and use that.”

The heat which engulfed Dean at the words encompassed him as he used Castiel's come as lube. Dean grasped his cock, beginning a brutal pace, twisting his wrist just so. Short breaths punched from his chest and he didn't try and take it slow. He couldn't. Dean was here, in the moment, completely and utterly, and nothing and no one was going to take that from him. He tried his best to stare up to where he believed Cas’s eyes were, and when he heard a garbled reply to this questing gaze he held his position.

Dean came quickly onto the dirt, almost embarrassingly so, hunched over and breathing like it was the last oxygen his body would ever receive. His inhalations roared through his ears as he came back to Earth, and by the time he looked up, Cas was gone. 

Dean huffed a snort. What more could he do? Then threw his head back, letting a peal of laughter out, unfettered and full of wonder.

“Aftercare, Cas - you freaking  _ douche _ ,” he whispered, letting out another grunt of laughter. 

When he arrived home and changed into his PJs, he looked at the dirt and spectacularly come encrusted pants and knew there was no way he could wait for Cas to approach him again. He needed to take the proverbial bull by the horns. He grinned as he fell asleep, happy, calm, sated and with the beginnings of a plan.

 

**

 

Plans sucked balls. The problem, if you ever attempted to make one, was that something so miniscule could derail them. Like Garth breaking his leg playing dungeons and dragons (don't ask) and Dean no longer working the kitchen at all as a consequence.  _ Sure _ he saw Cas, but not in any capacity that could get his plan in motion. His plan… well it was still in the  _ planning _ stages, but Ellen was obviously cockblocking, he was sure of it.

“Hey, brother,” Dean was assaulted with a hardy back slap that made his teeth hurt.

“Benny!” Dean spun to turn the slap into a half hug, delight colouring his voice, “when did you get back?”

“Last night,” the large man smiled crookedly.

Dean spent the rest of his shift gravitating towards his old friend, they had worked together at a bar years ago, Purgatory (technically it was called Peabodies, but it was one level of hell, so the name stuck). Benny now traveled around as a freelance photographer and the freedom suited him.

“What time do you get off?”

“Any minute, asshole, why's that - need a brew?”

“Let's head to our old stomping ground for a proper catch up.” Benny lazily eyed Jo as she walked past. “See what shakes out of the tree.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, let me wash up and I'll meet you at the club, half hour?” Dean needed a night out with his old friend, he was too busy mooning over a cook, chef, whatever he was, and it was consuming every spare thought. He needed to get drunk, messy drunk, and have a good night. He needed to not think about any dumb plan (that was probably going to fail anyway) for a bit.

“Perfect, brother - see you there.” Benny tipped his cap at Jo on his way out, earning a genuine smile from the usually fake smile Queen. Maybe there was more than meets the eye to those two, Dean would have to look into it.

On his way through the kitchen to the staff shower, Cas glanced at Dean, then away just as quickly, his face giving Dean nothing except it's usual disdain. Dean really was too over it this particular night to care if Cas was angry or happy or horny (scratch that, if he was horny, Dean wanted to know about it).

Dean came back out ten minutes later as the kitchen was in the midst of being wiped down. Jo gave a long whistle as Dean tugged at the collar of his dark green button-down, his face coloured slightly. He sensed Cas watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Hot date tonight, Winchester?”

Dean huffed out an embarrassed laugh, “uh, no, just heading out with Benny to Wendigo.”

“That's a dive, Dean, a club you go to when you want to pick up something quick and dirty. But I will say, Benny, he's  _ one _ fine specimen,” Jo used her hip to open the door and ducked out throwing a, ‘lucky boy’ over her shoulder. Dean didn't have time to tell her he wasn't heading out to fuck Benny  _ or _ a stranger. He didn't know if he could fuck anyone else, now he'd had a taste of the divine.

Dean heard a grunt from behind him and glanced back over his shoulder. Cas was scrubbing a clean looking pan,  _ hard _ . His shoulders tense as he pushed his body weight into washing it. Dean raised an eyebrow, “you good Cas?”

“Fine.” The word, short, harsh and clipped as it was, was all Dean needed. He was getting the hell out of there before he said or did anything stupid. He didn’t know where this thing was going with the brunette - or  _ if  _ it was going. And that was the kicker, Dean liked to be told what to do, clearly got off on the fact, but he wasn't going to be somebody's little bitch waiting for a crumb of attention. He ignored the small voice in his mind that called him a liar and knew that for Cas, he would scrounge the ground on hands and knees using his mouth only to obtain a crumb from him.

 

Dean threw his rucksack into the passenger side of the Impala, about to climb in when a hand grasped his shoulder, spinning him so his back hit the frame of the car.

Lips locked tightly over his, while a tongue quested hard between his teeth, forcing his mouth open.  _ Fuck, _ Castiel stole his breath  _ and _ his resolve all in one foul swoop. Gone were the thoughts that he was going to play hard to get, gone also were the thoughts he might end this.  _ This _ , right here, Castiel's body pressed almost possessively against his own, mouth devouring not only his own mouth, but his mind along with it. It was all Dean wanted. All he needed, all his body craved.

Castiel didn't let up, his assault was sloppy, wet and not as in control as Dean was used to. The brunette's hand pushed roughly at the front of Dean's dark denim jeans, sighing into his mouth when he found a hard cock, Dean couldn't help but wonder what he’d expected to find. Dean was always hard around Cas, embarrassingly so.

He was unbuttoned and unzipped in a second, and Castiel's mouth finally stopped it's brutal quest of pulling Dean apart and lips locked onto his neck instead inducing a full body shiver and a ghost of a smile against his skin. Castiel's teeth nipped as his hand curled around Dean's hard cock.

“No boxers, you looking to pick up tonight, Dean?” Castiel's voice was half wrecked, the baritone of the question made Dean's knees weaken further, though the hand making rough strokes on his dick was doing a good enough job on that front.

“Ugh… fuck, that feels so good…”

Castiel's grip tightened almost painfully. “Answer me.”

Dean's head swum as Castiel bit, actually  _ bit _ the soft skin where his collarbone and shoulder met. Dean's hips jerked and his jeans fell to the ground silently; he was thankful the staff car park was empty.

“No, well, not really...” Dean  _ was  _ looking to pick up, but only in the form of Castiel. He really didn't want to play all his cards and say that though, not now. Castiel's hand came off the end of his dick and he leaned away from Dean,  _ fuck, he'd said the wrong thing. Shit. _

Castiel's eyes were hard to read in the dim light, but he swore he saw downturned lips and a frown mar his otherwise perfect features.

Then Dean was spun once more, and he almost fell as he tried to reorient himself with jeans creating havoc around his ankles.

“Hands on the roof.”

Deans heartbeat ricocheted in his chest - was Cas going to fuck him? Right here in the car park? Though a thrill went through him at the thought, Dean actually wanted to spend time exploring Cas if that was going to happen. Everything they'd done had been quick, dirty and admittedly extremely hot, but Dean wanted more. Was he being selfish and a little naive - well, yes. But he couldn't help what he wanted, anymore than his lungs wanting air.

Cas used his knee to spread Dean's legs further before he felt a knuckle draw a feather light touch down his shirt covered spine. It continued its soft quest when it got to bare skin, through the crack of Dean's ass and over his tight pucker. A tremor went from the top of Dean's head to his toes and he decided if Cas  _ was  _ planning to fuck him, he wanted it (god did he) - he would relent and work on a plan to discover Cas's body privately at a later date.

Hot open-mouthed breaths started at Dean's clothed shoulder, trailing down his back, and he was infinitely glad he'd scrubbed down in the shower, knowing he no longer stank of sweat and alcohol.

Cas’s hand grabbed his cock again, giving it a few sharp tugs, eliciting a deep groan from low in Dean's diaphragm.  _ Fuck _ , this man was utterly phenomenal with his hands.

Dean heard Cas drop to his knees, and where a soft knuckle pressed before, now there was moisture, heat and a tiny tentative lick.

“Holy fucking, fuck balls - Castiel… holy, Cas…” Each word was wrought out of his chest as the small testing licks became a flat tongue, starting just behind his balls all the way up and through. His hole trembled along with the rest of his body when the brunette began to taste, to circle and to push into him in earnest. The tight ring of muscle caught on Castiel's tongue and he pushed in further, wriggling as he went. Dean slapped the roof of the Impala involuntary, the sharp sting in his palm calming him momentarily. But, oh lord, what this man could do with just a tongue and the will to blow Dean's mind. 

Cas pulled away, kissing his ass cheek with sloppy tongue licks while stroking Dean's cock harder. The brunette spoke into the skin as he bit, a groan ruptured from Dean at the pressure. “Mine, Dean, you are mine to play with.”

Dean's heart stopped, his brain followed soon after as Castiel spread his cheeks to fuck him with a stiffened tongue, index finger rubbing his outer rim in conjunction, adding another dimension to the already insane sensations.

Dean agreed over and over like a mantra in his mind, 'yours, yes all yours’, realising when Castiel stopped a moment to slide a finger deep within him, he'd actually yelped the words out, more than once.

Dean was on the cusp, his body cried out for release and Cas knew this, toying with him. He bought him close with his tongue alone, then slammed a finger deep, crooking it to make Dean writhe like a demon, then attacking him once more with his hot, filthy mouth.

“Fuck I can't wait to get in here,” Cas husked as he nipped with blunt teeth. In the end it was those words paired with unerringly hard strokes on his cock while Cas sucked and licked deep into Dean's body that had him coming all over the door of his car in stilted spurts and ragged breaths. Dean rested his head on his arms, twitching in aftershocks, small bursts of air puffing steam onto the Impala's black paint. He was addicted, officially addicted, to Castiel.

Hands left Dean and a few moments and a groan later, Cas stood up. Dean was about to to say goodbye to his retreating back like usual, when he realised Cas was still standing there.

Dean grabbed tissues from the car, cleaning himself before pulling his jeans up, then turned slowly, making sure if Cas wanted to retreat he could, but he didn't.  _ Huh. _ Dean schooled his features into something neutral and handed over a wad of tissues which Castiel used to wipe his face.

“Uh, can I, help…?” Dean said, and gestured towards Castiel's crotch like an idiot.

“I'm good,” Castiel replied as he zipped himself up, wiping his hands while he was at it _. Christ _ , did he jerk off while Dean was recovering? Dean's dick made a gallant attempt to harden at the thought.

They stood for a moment, silence stretched unending between them until awkwardness began to creep up. “So, yeah…” Dean started, “I was just heading to a club to meet a friend, uh - want to join?”

Dean wasn't sure if he should be offended, especially when Castiel huffed out a laugh. Then it hit, Cas had let out a goddamn laugh - at something he’d said - there was a first for everything.

“I appreciate the offer, but no... clubs aren't really my scene.”

“Sure, yeah, cool. So…” Dean waited, not sure what was happening. He scratched the back of his neck, the nervous gesture he'd never quite gotten over from childhood. 

“I'm… I'm not very good...at this.” Castiel spoke, cheek quivering with unspoken words. When he  _ didn't _ speak again, Dean went with his default, humour.

“I'd beg to differ Cas, pretty sure you're fucking fantastic at this - the wet patch on my car doesn't lie.”

Castiel met his eyes, a small twinkle of thanks deep in them, making Dean feel like a sap for noticing.

“What I meant is, would you like to… I mean, would you be interested in...”

“Sure” Dean interrupted.

Castiel frowned adorably, “You didn't let me finish.”

“Well, I assume it's going to be about having more sex…” Dean was delighted at Castiel's reaction. He'd shut his eyes and let a deep long breath out of his nose, as if dealing with the most annoying person on the planet. Technically he was.

“Yes it is… but,”

“No buts, I'm in.” Dean stated.

Cas watched him wide eyed, as if he couldn't believe it was that easy to get an agreement out of Dean. Then his face changed and it almost looked like he was ready to argue, but Dean didn't want to give him a chance to change his mind.

“Oh and when I say no buts, I clearly didn't mean, butt, butts…”

“I still can't believe you're a manager - of people.” Dean would never get sick of hearing the hint of laughter in Castiel's voice now he’d heard it, especially when aimed at him.

“In the politest way possible, fuck you Cas.” Dean stood with a grin, and got a small one in return.

“It's Castiel,” the brunette replied with no real bite. And there it was - Dean was officially in trouble, his cock he wasn't concerned about, but his heart - well that was another matter entirely.

 

**

 

Five days later saw a partially panicking Dean, cleaning like the President was about to visit. He even started to scrub the finger marks from the light switches until Sam scoffed loudly. “What kind of a sick bastard washes power switches before a date? Actually, what kind of kinky shit  _ are _ you in to?”

Dean swallowed hard, growling back something about being ‘dickless’, mortified beyond belief because - well, he thought he  _ was  _ into something kinky (maybe not electrical stuff) but enough so, he didn't need Sam knowing. Life as an older brother was not cool. Ok, it was, but sometimes...

“Have fun on your date,” Sam yelled down the hall.

“For the love of God, Sammy - for the last time, it's not a fucking date!”

He heard a chortle and frowned, “Well, have fun having sex until your eyes are swimming.”

“That… That was gross,” Dean managed.

Sam's laughter echoed down to the lounge and Dean couldn't help the small measure of happiness at hearing it. They'd been through hell and came out the other end relatively unscathed.

“You  _ are _ leaving though? Tonight?  _ All _ night?”

“Yes, Dean, I'm staying over at Kevin's to study and eat my height in pizza.” Dean could almost hear the eye roll from where he stood looking at the light switch, the fresh dirt streak on it most likely a gift from Sam. 

“You sure...?” he sing-songed back, wiping the switch furiously.

“Yes I'm friggin’ sure. I really don't want to hear you screwing some guy… Again.”

“Once. That happened, once.” Dean argued.

Sam came back into the room, bag packed, giving him the stink eye, and Dean at least had the decency to flush.  _ Ok _ , more than once. But he couldn't help if he was a screamer, depended on the guy really.

“Bye, bitch.” Sam gave him a wink before disappearing.

“See ya - jerk.” Their goodbye to each other as comfortable as a pair of worn slippers.

As Sam’s car took off down the street, Dean panicked for real. When he casually asked Cas to come over for a drink and watch the game, he didn't actually expect him to agree. But he did. If a feather appeared, it would have knocked Dean to his ass.

He just straight up assumed Cas was coming over for sex, why else? Scintillating conversation? Attraction aside, what  _ else _ did they have? They had worked together for months and sure, between their sniping they'd had more than a few conversations about sport, weather and the polar bear plight (because they were cute, terrifying and a waning species - a bit like Castiel in a way) so they'd covered the important things. But, did they know each other? No.

Dean's inner crisis over potential conversation topics came to an abrupt halt when a sharp rap at the front door sounded.  _ Oh crap. _

His heart hammered  _ so _ hard, he was sure Cas would take one look at him, hear the staccato beat, laugh, then walk away.  _ Ok _ , that was probably bullshit, but Cas might actually be able to see the pulsing beats in his neck, a dead give away to how nervous he was.

Dean opened the door with a welcoming grin and a hand pulling his collar up over his neck, then dropped any pretence of holding his shit together. Cas was, Cas was unbelievably and very painfully handsome. He'd never seen the cook outside of work gear, which consisted of sneakers, oversized pants and shirts so stained they created their own colour on the spectrum. The tight jeans and grey henley weren’t groundbreaking in the fashion stakes, but Dean could not look away. Cas watched him closely, an eyebrow rising slowly, along with his hand, holding a six pack of beer -  _ he bears a gift from the gods themselves, claim him - quick. _

It took longer than it should have for Dean to realise he still hadn't said a word, standing in the door unmoving. He gazed at Cas while tugging his collar up further.

“Generally, you'd invite me in about now…” Cas drawled the sentence out, the tone teasing and the opposite of surly, it caught Dean completely off guard. He liked it,  _ too _ much. Is this what Jo and Ellen meant when they said Cas was a different person away from the kitchen? The lack of immediate snark and anger threw Dean for a loop.

“Sure, yeah...  come in,” Dean spluttered.

“Shoes off?” Castiel asked and Dean stared,  _ what?  _

The brunette gestured to Dean's feet, so he looked down,  _ what the hell? _ He hadn't even put shoes on, he'd been so busy cleaning he'd left on his oldest and softest pair of faded ripped jeans (obscenely ripped, his ass may or may not be on display). Bare feet poked from underneath the denim; at least he remembered to change his shirt _ , for fucks sake _ .

“Uh, no, you’re good - sorry I spaced and didn't finish dressing.”  _ Winchester you dickhead, you don't tell your (date?) you aren't ready. _

“Don't apologise, I think you look delicious,” Cas said with a shrug, followed by an appraising full body look, leaving Dean lost for words again. Angry, dominant Castiel was one sexy motherfucker, but softly spoken teasing Castiel, was on a whole different level of 'fuck with Dean's libido’.

Dean didn't reply lest he blurt out, ‘eat me’, and instead gestured for Cas to follow him into the house, pointedly  _ not _ remembering what it had felt like when Cas  _ did _ eat him.  _ Don't get distracted - or hard. _

Dean didn't remember the next half hour or so,  _ sure, _ he showed Cas around, who seemed impressed by his place, offered him a beer, got settled on the couch, turned the game on - but he was having trouble reconciling the two men called Cas in his head. The one from work who was an absolute douche, with no regard for others, the one Dean was still trying to figure out if he  _ even _ liked. Then there was  _ this _ Cas, who sat swigging beer as he teased Dean, making conversation (good conversation), and so  _ very _ likeable. Both made Dean as hard as marble with just a look. 

“Dean.” The name snapped out of Cas’s mouth and Dean immediately turned towards him, thoughts forgotten. “I thought so.”

He didn't elaborate further but put his empty beer down carefully on the coffee table then faced Dean, who in turn held his breath. “We should - you know - chat… about…” he pointed between the two of them and Dean felt a loosening in his shoulders -  _ ok _ , this he was prepared for.

“So, I want you to wear a Gimp mask everytime we’re together  _ and _ I require your balls clamped for seven hours a day.” Dean was  _ not _ prepared for this.

Castiel's chuckle wrenched his mind from disbelief to embarrassment in seconds, “you're fucking with me?”

“Well yes, clamps are definitely a third date topic.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and went to grab another beer for them, warmth filling him at the thought of this maybe being a date.

When Dean handed over the beverage, their fingers brushed and Cas met his gaze. “Ok, seriously. What do you want? What are you looking for? Be specific.”

For a second Dean wasn't sure how to respond to his directness. He wanted Cas, that much was clear, in any way he could. But would he be able to articulate that in words? Probably not.

“I uh,” he fell silent. “So… I guess,” silence again. “Shit, this is hard.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Cas who waited patiently, was he not nervous or affected at all? “So, I guess I like the whole, being told what to do.” His face was flaming by this stage and he took a swig of cold ale. “Specific enough?”

“Do you just?” Cas countered.

“Don't make this harder than it already is.”

“I thought that was the point?”

“You're not cute, Cas.”

Cas’s face broke into a grin and he sat back on the lounge making himself comfortable in Dean's space. Not cute at all - no,  _ breathtaking _ .

“Ok, I don't really do scenes, well I don't think I do. I don't like humiliation, a little pain is ok, being restrained could be fun, nothing too squicky. I mean, ‘sounding’  _ really _ doesn't do anything for me. I also like… I like being told when to come. You know, that kind of thing…” Dean trailed off in a rush, not sure how to articulate what he was trying to say without sounding like an uninformed virgin, or like he’d just read it off Wiki (which he did).

Castiel’s eyes were unfathomably dark when Dean finally found the guts to meet them, before looking quickly away.  _ Not so unaffected then. _ “You're not interested in being a submissive then? Full-time?”

“No, not really,” Dean held Cas’s eyes, “that's not an issue is it?”

Cas let out a deep breath which almost sounded like relief, “actually, no. No it's really not. I'm not looking to be somebody's, you know... Master. I like to take charge and play, that's all.”

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, Cas obviously didn't feel the need to fill it, but Dean couldn't help himself.

“You know, you're a completely different person out of the kitchen. Practically normal when you’re not belittling me.”

Cas stiffened up at the words and Dean realised what that must have sounded like, “Shit, I didn't mean that. I mean, yes I did - but not in the way you took it?” He ended in a question, sounding like an eight year old.

“I get it,” Cas replied, going quiet for a moment, reflecting on something as he drank from the bottle. Dean meanwhile berated himself for his stupidity. “Look, Dean, I can tell you're itching to ask me questions. You've got me in a good mood, so you can ask  _ one _ .”

Dean sat back, the (probably) intentional command easily obeyed, a million questions floated through his mind, but he surprised himself more than Cas with the one that came out. “Did you really work at Artiçunos?”

Castiel's sharp look and frown was almost enough for Dean to take back the words, but he didn't. The brunette sighed and leant back, eyes closed. Dean remained quiet, enjoying being able to look his fill.

“Yes.”

After another minute Dean huffed, “that's it?”

“I answered your question,” Cas replied, a hint of lightness in his voice.

“I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me.”

The corner of Castiel’s lip quirked and he took another breath, “it feels like a lifetime ago that I was there. I like the quiet here, the people,” he glanced at Dean who felt heat pool in his gut.

“That's generally why most people leave.”

Castiel let out a small noise of disbelief, as if he couldn't fathom people wanting to abandon this almost provincial life. Dean had always wondered where he would have ended up if his parents hadn't died when they did - would he have been in the number of those who left?

“I don't find it comfortable talking about myself,” Cas said, strain apparent in his voice. When Dean didn't immediately give him an out, he sighed, “dot points then,’ Cas says, counting them off on his fingers, ‘travelled the world studying at various culinary schools on mother’s dime. Fell what I  _ thought _ was in love while staying in New York  _ and _ Artiçunos way too long. Gave up my worldly goods, disowned my family, before landing here to meet an infuriatingly gorgeous man. At which point in time, I proceeded to tell him to take his pants off.”

Dean was suffering whiplash from that spiel, and he tried to focus on anything other than ‘fell in love’. He didn't particularly want to pause on it and chose his reply carefully, “so, travelling the world learning to be a chef?”

Cas shifted in his seat until he was leaning forward, hand finding the bare skin of Dean's leg through a ripped hole. His fingers began a lazy teasing trail up his inner thigh, blue eyes held Dean's, steady and unrelenting.  _ How was that so sexy? _

“Fairly certain I'm done talking and just gave you an order.”

Dean swallowed,  _ oh.  _ Question time was over.

Warm fingertips left searing trails on Dean's skin before finally reaching their goal. Dean let out a soft sigh as they tickled the base of his balls, uncovered and bare - almost as if waiting for Castiel's touch.

“I have a feeling the lack of underwear is less an oversite and more of a ploy.” Cas growled, sliding closer. His mouth slotted over Deans, who melted into the sensation of having all of Castiel’s attention.

Dean slid his butt forward, thrusting his hips up to allow Castiel more access. Fingers dipped further back, grazing the tightness of his hole which clenched involuntary at the touch. A deep moan broke from Castiel as Dean’s body welcomed his ministrations.  _ Christ, _ Dean didn’t think he would ever be able to say no to anything Castiel asked for. He also didn’t want to.

His jeans were becoming too tight against his cock as Castiel's hand filled the fabric from mid-thigh. Castiel continued his caresses, and as a blunt dry finger pressed in so very slightly, Dean arched, throwing his head back on the couch. The cook didn't waste time attaching his lips to Dean’s neck, sucking lightly, licking a trail down to the edge of his shirt. Soft Russian phrases pressed into his damp skin,  _ fuck,  _ the deep foreign words sexier than anything Dean had ever heard. He wondered what they meant.

Castiel’s hand removed itself, Dean feeling the loss of sensation and warmth acutely, “You’re wearing too many clothes - remove them.” The words wavered at first before finishing strong, Dean glad he wasn't the only one utterly affected by the moment. The brunette moved himself to the other side of the couch and sat on the edge, eyes depthless and dark. Dean’s heart slammed against his ribs - he was  _ not _ going to be able to give this up easily - hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

Dean stood, hunching his shoulders as he ripped his shirt up over his head, throwing the cloth somewhere across the room. Shaky fingers followed, deftly unbuttoning his jeans, and before he could slide them down, Castiel reached across the space, grabbing the waistband, yanking Dean towards him. Dean, to his credit, didn’t fall - in the literal sense anyway.

Castiel mouthed his lower abs, a little soft and not as defined as as they used to be, but Cas worshiped them as though he were a God, and  _ boy _ , he could get used to this attention. The jeans were pulled down moments later, and Castiel sat back looking at Dean’s rigid and bobbing cock before him. A crooked smile appeared, and Dean’s heart went from beating a million miles an hour, to ceasing completely. The space between them miniscule, but with such an intense gaze on him, Dean felt like a cavernous canyon appeared. His toes curled into the plush carpet and a flush of embarrassment filled his cheeks. Blue eyes flicked up to his face.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Dean. Your cock is gorgeous, beautiful, curved just the way I like.” Dean exhaled shakily as the words washed over him,  _ holy shit, _ this man - this angry man - was too much. Especially like this, generous and warm. “Now - I am going to suck you, and you’re  _ not _ to come - not until I give you permission.”

Dean’s knee gave out and Cas caught him with a chuckle, face flaming. He just  _ fucking _ swooned -  _ what the actual shit? _

Cas grasped the base of his dick tightly at the same time his tongue flicked out, touching Dean for the first time. Dean keened, jerking forward and wondered how he was ever going to last. Suddenly a shrill ringtone shattered the magnificent build up. Castiel paid it no attention, but Dean (with heightened senses) found it ridiculously distracting. Almost as distracting as the wet heat which finally engulfed him. Dean managed to ignore the phone after that.

The third time it rang, Castiel swore in Russian. Dean’s cock popped obscenely from his mouth as he sat back on his heels grabbing a phone from his back pocket. Dean was actually thankful for the reprieve, he was certain he couldn't  _ not  _ come, especially once he had the brunettes hot, moist warmth surrounding him.

“What?” Castiel yelled into the phone. Dean heard a deep male voice in response, but didn’t wonder too long over who it was as Castiel's hand snaked back to his cock and began to stroke. “Are you serious? I emphatically told you  _ not _ to come here.”

Dean was no longer a hundred percent in the moment, not at those words and especially not at the next words either. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Yes, I fucking know we need to talk.”

Castiel threw the phone on the couch, scowling momentarily before looking back to Dean and the hand which still jerked him deftly. Dean’s chest now tight with the words Cas uttered to the mystery person -  _ man _ \- on the phone. Yet, his cock was harder than it had ever been, and arousal continued to course through his body.

Blue eyes looked up catching his, Castiel winced, “I have to go.”

Dean nodded, unsure his voice was going to be able to respond without something unsteady falling through it. But even though Castiel uttered those words of finality, his hand hadn't strayed from its movements and Dean felt the build up in his stomach. 

“God damn it,” he looked torn. Dean was about to try and say it was ok (although it definitely was not) when the brunette caught his gaze again. “You have exactly thirty seconds to come down my throat, or you don’t get to come until the next time I see you.”

Dean almost came on the spot.

In the end it only took twenty seven seconds, Castiel's mouth sucking loudly with long fingers reaching deep inside of Dean slick with saliva. He even had time to spare and gasped Castiel's name, running fingers through the brunette strands before him. His hair so infinitely soft. 

Before Dean could get his balance back, Castiel stood up, a bulge crowding the front of his jeans (which Dean so desperately wanted to take care of), and was gone with a goodbye and a half apology for the interruption. 

Dean’s stomach sank, who could have the kind of hold over Castiel (the most stubborn man alive) to be able to make him leave in a literal minute? There was also no mention of  _ when _ the next time would be. On the heels of that thought, another smacked an unusually vulnerable Dean in the face - Castiel left hard and horny. Was he now going to get that taken care of by somebody else? Acid filled his stomach, as sickness welled. But, Dean couldn’t do a thing about it, he just had to trust that what he and Castiel were doing was enough to keep the brunettes attention, and if it wasn’t... Well, Dean really didn't know how else to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in the chapter - though my excuse just happens to be... I had to take time out and travel to Melbourne to meet Misha Collins in person - with my beta, so neither of us did much work other than make heart eyes at the perfection before us. 
> 
> So I guess I'm sorry - not sorry... and, oh boy - that man in person... charisma plus!!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter - one more to go!


	3. Chapter 3

Turning up to the Roadhouse the next evening was akin to a traumatic experience for Dean. He never  _ ever _ worried about how he'd appear to someone else, he was comfortable in his own skin, but this was completely out of his scope. How would Cas interact, what might he say after the previous evenings happenings? More importantly, would he tell Dean who was on the phone and why he skipped out? His skin crawled with the unknown and he burst to get it over with, wondering how it would all go down.

He didn't have long to wonder. Cas was a no show. 

Dean let his stomach churn with disappointment before he masked his face into nonchalance when he finally asked Ellen if everything was ok with the cook.

“No idea, Winchester - I tend not to pry into people's business.”

“What? Are you kidding me? You’re constantly up in my grill about stuff.”

“That's because Bobby is too easy on you. Plus somebody has to make sure Sam eats.”

“I'm offended!” Dean exclaimed, then gestured towards Sam devouring a pizza with a salad chaser (kid was weird in more ways than one). Sam looked up, smiling with a piece hanging from his mouth, before giving a small wave then resuming his bookwork. “See? He eats.”

Ellen raised an eyebrow, collectively known as the ‘don't fuck with me, boy’ expression, he grinned, shrugging in return. Dean was glad Sam took his studies seriously, because he sure as shit should have at that age. He pushed away the ever present pang of knowing Sam would have to leave for the city (which one, he had no idea) sooner rather than later. There was only so much you could do via correspondence. 

Dean wasn’t looking forward to being left behind in the small town, but what options did he have? Although he loved it here, would he be able to cut ties and leave as well? He had a job he was good at, yet really didn’t care for, a lucrative side business restoring cars he could do anywhere, a handful of friends and a brother he would lose. But Dean had more family here than just his brother, and family meant everything to him. He knew Bobby and Ellen would understand if he took off (Jo less understanding) - but could he? There wasn’t anything else keeping him here. 

_ Castiel. _

Well he didn't exactly  _ have _ him, and if he did - in what capacity? Was the almost-sex they'd had enough to keep him tethered here? The resounding ‘yes’ that flew through Dean's mind, was not as surprising as it should be. But what if Cas offered him more?

It was a moot point as Cas was currently gone, to whomever was on the other end of the phone. 

Dean’s brain hurt.

“Who's going to cook then, or we just serving fries and hot wings again?” he found himself asking, pleased his voice remained neutral.

“Lord no, Ash is out there. Cas, professional as usual, had all the prep ready for the week and Ash has been learning from him - he's actually not bad. He takes criticism better than  _ some _ .”

Dean ignored her pointed look, not taking criticism resulted in the best fucking sex he’d ever had, so he was glad he was a stubborn ass. “He's not going to try and serve up fried gator is he?”

“Don't stereotype,” Ellen bopped him on the back of the head, “though he did ask about racoon fries…”

Her smirk was contagious and Dean found himself laughing, almost missing her next words. “Cas will be back later this week, so you can stop fretting.”

“Hey, I didn't ask.” Dean said quickly, a little  _ too _ quickly. But at the same time, relief flooded his system.

“You didn't need to boy, it's written all over your dopey face.” Apparently he needed to work on his poker face too.

 

The next few hours dragged as his distracted mind wasn't on the job, instead on a certain sex-haired brunette who’d blown  him with nothing more than a smirk and an order the evening before. He began to fantasise Cas turning up at the bar, whispering all the filthy things he wanted to do into Dean’s ear, and would continue to do it until... when? Death do us part?  _ Ease up turbo. _

It was as his mind turned over that little nugget of unintentional thought, that Benny and Jo turned up. Together. 

Dean couldn't wipe the shit eating grin off his face. This was exactly what he needed to take his mind off Cas (and who he might be with). A night of sheer relentless ribbing. Dean was surprised he didn't rub his hands together in unfettered glee. This would be brilliant. He plastered on his brightest smirk as they walked towards him.

“Not a damn word, Winchester. Else I’ll tell everyone about those pink delicates you stole from Rhonda’s washing line,” Jo hissed as they walked past, Benny's knowing grin reached him over her blonde head.  _ So shit, _ that would be  _ no _ teasing then.

Dean grimaced and hid behind the bar with Charlie, afraid his fetish (via Jo’s big mouth) would be common knowledge if he got too close. Jo was basically his little sister - there was  _ no _ way he could refrain from saying anything about their date.  _ Hell, _ everyone probably already knew about the panties, maybe he should utilise the small amount of leverage he had and go to town on the couple.

Before he could make his decision though, Sam perched himself at the bar. He sat watching Dean intently for a moment no that it was quiet and he’d finished studying. Dean poured him a beer and waited. He didn't need to wait long.

“Sooo - the not-date.”

“Yep, still not a date,” Dean replied in his ‘big brother’ don’t-mess-with-me-voice. It worked as intended.

“He must have left early - I was home by eight this morning.” Or not. Sam completely ignored his tone, as usual.

“He didn’t stay.”

“Oh man - I knew you sucked, but not bad enough to screw up a sure thing.”

Dean’s cheeks heated at the image of Cas sucking him and he realised he really could  _ not _ think those thoughts standing in front of his little brother. His silence must have been taken for something else when Sam grabbed his wrist over the counter. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” His default phrase for any situation. “Yep, he got a phone call and had to leave.” 

“Important?”

“I don’t know Samantha - do you want to call him? Go round, make cupcakes, braid each other’s hair and talk about it?”

“Don’t be snarky, braiding is fucking  _ hard _ .”

“So are cupcakes,” Dean supplied.

“Yes - so are cupcakes, when  _ you _ bake them,” Sam smiled in return. “Want to watch a movie tonight?”

“Sure.” Dean moved to serve someone, glad he didn’t have to elaborate further. If anyone was going to get something close to  _ feelings _ out of him - it would be Sam. He returned as Sam was almost finished his drink.

“I’ll go home, make some popcorn and get set up, you finishing soon?”

Dean took a look around and nodded, noticing Jo and Benny, snug in the corner chatting. He wouldn’t interrupt them. Dean applauded himself for acting like an adult, then sent Charlie over to them with an Orgasm and a Sex On The Beach he'd just made. The flat look he got in return from Jo made everything slightly better. Benny just raised his glass in a cheers.  “What are we watching - not bloody  _ Titanic _ again?”

Sam drained his glass and flipped him off, before walking away. “John Wick -  _ and _ if you’re lucky, I might toss in the second one as well.”

Dean beamed at his brother’s retreating back - he’d always had a thing for Keanu, and Sam knew it. It was the little punk’s way of making Dean feel better. Keanu would definitely soothe his ruffled feathers for the interim - but what about after?

 

**

 

Dean had felt school made the weeks drag as slow as molasses before the summer would come to burst him from the monotonous into freedom. Well six days without seeing or hearing from Cas was like torture in comparison. Dean was frazzled from not letting his unfazed facade down. It was exhausting pretending that his every waking thought was not with somebody else - somebody who hadn't even bothered to contact him, even to be polite. Dean was an adult, able to handle rejection. Well he had  _ hoped _ he could. Dean hadn’t even seen Castiel in the morning on his daily run - not that he was looking.  _ Liar _ .

It took a moment to actually pinpoint why he was so janky with the world -  _ he missed the surly bastard _ . Cas had somehow gotten under Dean’s skin deep enough that he felt actual loss without the snark, the conversations lost in the noise of the kitchen, the heated looks and, of course, the beginnings of Dean’s need for Cas on a more base level.  _ Christ he wanted Cas to fuck into him so badly. _

He put the kettle on, intending to make hot chocolate and chase the misery away with sugar. It was late and Sam was staying at Jess’s place, and although he liked having the place to himself, it felt different. Strange. It felt as if something was about to happen, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good or an awful sixth sense calling to him.

His thoughts ground to a halt when he heard a noise at the front door.

“You leave your damn keys behind again, Sam?” He called as he opened the front door. Sam was not standing on the stoop. Neither was anyone else. They were sitting slumped against the wall.

“Cas?” Dean heard the incredulous note in his voice. A whole fucking week with nothing, and now  _ this? _

“Mwhe, Dea…” Cas fell silent again, Dean’s heart leapt into his throat - was Cas injured? Then an unsteady hand slapped the ground as if to reach Dean somehow, followed by a wet hiccup.

“Are you fucking  _ drunk _ ? Son of a bitch.” Dean unceremoniously hooked his forearm under Castiel’s armpit, hauling him to his feet. Castiel fell into him, pressed up tightly, and as much as Dean’s body sang to have Cas against him again, the distinct smell of hard liquor and the awkwardly uncoordinated steps were very off putting. _ What in hell was he doing here? _

The hot chocolate turned into black coffee, strong enough the spoon could stand up unaided. Dean sat Cas up on the couch, propping him so he wouldn't fall; he had to use every ridiculous cushion Ellen had bought him over the years to ensure he didn’t slide sideways. Finally a use for all their pastel coloured softness.

“Cas, man - you good?”

Castiel's blue hazy gaze met his and the smile that  broke out over Castiel's face punched a hole right through Dean's resolve. Fucking hell, he was ethereal, unobtainable and absolutely flawless. Dean was a lost cause.

“Mm good…” Cas trailed off and leaned forward to grab at Dean's knee. Dean moved back and the frown directed his way was almost as breathtaking as the smile.  _ Winchester, pull it to-fucking-gether _ .

“Have some coffee,” Dean thrust a travel mug towards Cas, knowing a porcelain cup full of hot liquid was not going to aid the drunk man. He held back a laugh when Cas complained it burnt his tongue, then proceeded to hold it between his fingers before asking Dean to kiss it better. 

“Jusss got backkk…” Cas took another sip, wincing at the bitterness, “cream?”

“All out, sorry. Back - back from where?”

Cas fell into the cushions shutting his eyes. Dean watched the rapid movement under his lids for a moment, before he prodded Cas with his foot and the brunette started, “back from where, Cas?”

Instead of an answer he got garbled noises, that took Dean a moment to realise was singing, badly.

“You're butchering Frank Sinatra, you know?’ Dean could hear just enough of the melody to work out Cas meaning, ‘New York?’  _ Jesus, _ ‘I didn't even realise you were gone…” Dean let the annoyance he felt colour his words, even though the drunken asshole wouldn't notice.  _ Shit _ , he was pining over a guy who hadn't even been in the state, had flown off to New York at the drop off a hat the moment some mystery man turned up. 

“Wanna… Wanted stay… here...” Cas trailed off, “stoopid… brother trouble... shit…”

Talking to Cas was like deciphering a two year olds first sentences, it was all sounds and half words and Dean was not at all fluent in any other drunk except Roadhouse patrons. But he was fairly certain Cas just told him he wanted to stay here, with him - and maybe it was his brother who'd rang? Well he hoped that's what it meant. His heartbeat sped up a bit.

“So, fuckkk in beautiful, sooo obedient…” Dean grabbed the mug before it slipped from Castiel's hand. The man was too close to sleep, murmuring delicious things that Dean really shouldn't listen to because Cas was so far gone, everything he was saying could be utter bullshit.

“Well fuck, looks like drunken beauty is having a sleepover.” Dean smiled wryly at the snoring man before him, ensconced in cushions and by all rights looking more at home in Dean's house than Dean felt half the time. He was surprised Cas drank as much coffee as he had, and placed the mostly empty mug on the table, trying to figure out how he was going to tackle the dead weight of the cook into his bedroom. Dean wasn't a saint, even as drunk as Cas was, he craved the man's weight beside him overnight. He would never  _ do _ anything (he wasn't a creep) but he also didn't have a spare room, so what else was he supposed to do _? How about let the poor bastard sleep on the couch or Sam's room. _

“Shut up, brain.” He mumbled as he grabbed Cas in a parody of a fireman's hold.

Dean reasoned that Sam would just about rip him a new one if he allowed Cas to sleep in his room (who knew what he had hiding in there to be so funny about it—probably protein powder in bulk) and their couch was lumpy and grossly uncomfortable. .

Cas landed heavily on Dean's bed, just missing his head on the big wooden post.  _ Whoops.  _ He curled up almost immediately, and Dean fought the urge to wrap himself up behind. Cas was drunk and not in control of himself, it would be unforgivable for him to take something that wasn't freely given.

That didn't stop Dean lying prone, thinking about nothing  _ but _ snuggling the brunette, once he'd cleaned up and made it to bed.

Quiet snores filled the silence and Dean huffed a laugh, it had been a long while since his bedroom had a presence in it other than his own. He liked it—even if that presence smelt like a distillery.

Then Castiel fucked up all of Dean's well laid plans when he turned over, a careless arm slung low across his hips and a nuzzle of three days growth scratching his upper arm. His fingers twitched against Dean's hip and Dean went rigid as adrenaline screamed through him.

“Mmm, warm… comfy…..” Castiel’s breathy voice puffed against Dean's skin, prickling all the way to his fingers which longed to touch, but wouldn't. “Mine….”

Dean caught his breath, “yours,” he softly replied. Blue eyes caught his, making Dean curse he’d not turned off his lamp, all because he wanted to watch Cas sleep (ok, he  _ was _ slightly creepy). 

Cas blinked heavily, “drunk or dreaming?”

Dean let out a laugh, tension loosening in his spine, “uhh, dreaming?”

Cas let out a long sleepy exhale, “figures….”

He didn't move his arm though, he curled closer and Dean just about self combusted.

“Cas, I'm trying really hard to be a gentleman here.”

“Pfft, don't want… that.” His hand trailed lower and Dean caught it in a death grip.

“Castiel,” he warned.

Thankfully the brunette listened, or maybe he’d passed out again. 

Dean continued to watch the dark haired man sleep, heavy from alcohol yet also more peaceful then he’d ever seen. After more time than what would be perceived as normal, Dean turned the light off. Sleep didn’t come for hours.

 

**

 

Warm hands trailed their way across Dean’s stomach as he fought the wave of sleepiness that extreme early mornings tended to lay on him thickly. He pushed the questing fingers away, growling half hearted, hearing a deep chuckle next to his ear. Dean spent the next half a minute panicking because those were Castiel damn Novak’s fucking hands, and he had pushed them away.

Then they were back.

Dean couldn’t help his small movement, scooting himself towards Cas so his back was pressed up against the hard planes of his chest. Cas was still slightly damp and the smell of minty toothpaste hung in the air; Dean was glad he'd felt comfortable enough in his home to use the shower (and spare toothbrush). The brunette’s arm automatically curled around Dean as a distinct and mouth-watering hardness pressed against the small of his back and warm breath tickled his ear.

“I’m going to fuck you into this bed.”

The whimper which left Dean's throat was debauched and he would have been embarrassed but for Castiel's reaction to it. Hips thrust into him, a cock deliciously pushing against his arse, then those damn hands were sliding down the front of Dean’s sleep pants. His head fell back into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder as heat curled around his dick, wet kisses trailed up his neck along with small nips, making Dean let out a long drawn out groan. 

“I need you to stay still, Dean. Can you do that?”

Dean nodded back and Castiel huffed out another chuckle, “words—”

“Yes, for the love of God. I won’t damn well move,” he managed to hiss out just as Castiel's hand twisted. Dean couldn’t help the involuntary jerk.

“You moved.”

“For fucks sake, you did that on purpose—oh Jesus, don’t stop—that…”

Cas continued to flick his wrist quickly, stroking Dean to within an inch of coming. Dean, drowning in pleasure, tried his hardest not to move.

It was damn near impossible.

Suddenly Castiel’s hand disappeared and Dean’s pants were being tugged down his legs, he was naked in seconds—seemed the cook had skills other than driving Dean out of his mind. 

“I want you to stay on your side and cock your leg just so. Now, don’t. Move.”

“Sure,” Dean rasped as the other man positioned him. He felt Cas moving on the bed behind him, heard the unmistakable snick of a lid and a rustle of plastic, his insides fluttered at the meaning behind it. Cas was going to prep him, fuck him and hopefully allow him to come.

“Well done,” Cas whispered into his ear and Dean swallowed thickly, trying not to jump as slick fingers traced over his hole, teasing a moment before sliding a mere tip in. Then it was out and tracing again and Dean held himself still, so desperate to please Cas. Over the next five minutes the brunette was relentless, pushing in one, two then three fingers all whilst twisting, kissing and whispering how well Dean was doing.

Dean’s body was tighter than a bow string - taut and ready to explode. Castiel didn’t stop though, didn’t let Dean come down to feel his surrounds, didn’t let him take a deep enough breath to regain a semblance of steadiness. No, he kept thrusting deep into Dean’s needy hole, loosening the muscles, getting him ready to be fucked. Dean was dizzy from the need, the want that itched under his skin.

“You are beyond words, Dean.” Castiel’s voice wasn’t steady at all, “Perfection, sass and obedience all wrapped up in a gorgeous, bow legged body.”

Gasping at the words, Dean felt Castiel's condom covered cock slide between his thighs, wet and slippery with lube and just when Dean thought he would be full of Castiel's length, the brunette began to thrust - his dick sliding  _ across _ Dean’s clenching hole, catching ever so slightly on every other pass. It drove Dean crazy and he was only barely holding onto not arching his back to force the next stroke of Cas’s cock sliding to the hilt.

Cas pushed, but not all the way. Enough, though, to have Dean calling out hoarsely. The shallow push stretching him, almost giving him a tiny amount of relief - but not quite.

“Castiel…” he managed to whine (manly) as the next thrust went deeper - still not deep enough.

Dean was panting heavily, his leg still cocked in the position Cas had put it in, needing desperately to move.

“On your stomach,” the rough voice cut through Dean’s wild erratic thoughts, he complied immediately. “Spread your legs, tilt your hips and hold yourself up on your elbows”

“Fucking hell, you want me to recite a sonnet too?”

The slap was loud and the ache across Dean’s arse the most perfect of stings. His cock jerked up against the sheets, the friction glorious.

“I won’t warn you again - and you are not to come. Understand?”

“..yessss…” Dean hissed as Cas spread his cheeks apart roughly before dragging his cock across his twitching hole. “fuck….”

And Cas did. He pressed deep, quick and all the way until his balls hit Dean with a soft touch.  _ Fuck _ , he was so full, stretched and complete - finally. The keen that came from his throat was happiness incarnate - then Cas began to do exactly what he promised - he fucked Dean into the bed. Hard, relentless and all the while Dean somehow managed to not come.

It was a damn miracle.

Quiet gasps left Dean’s chest as Cas changed position, dropping his hip and suddenly Dean saw fucking stars as each stroke hit that spot reserved for making him a dribbling mess. He was no longer going to be able to keep his promise of not spurting all over his sheets—ruining them.

“Ten more strokes. Count them, then you can come.”

Dean tensed up, he couldn’t do it —he couldn’t. Cas slammed into him, rocking Dean forward. Holy god in heaven, he really couldn’t. “One….” 

Another seven followed, Dean was breathless, tense; sweat dripped down his face in rivulets from holding his orgasm at bay. “Nine, oh christ - I can’t…”

“You can and you will.” Castiel's voice was wrecked but the command unquestionable.

“Ten!” Dean yelled just as his orgasm tore through his body, leaving it wracking with convulsions, clenching around Castiel who bellowed out above him twitching deep within Dean’s abused ass, Russian words spilling from his raw throat. 

 

A cloth dabbed and wiped him, Dean started. 

“Dean, you were glorious. Are you feeling ok? I have some water next to the bed - you…” Cas’s voice drifted off and he heard a low chuckle, “I actually think you blacked out for a bit.”

“Christ…” Dean managed to enunciate, fairly certain he actually  _ had _ passed out. The soft wipes and gentle kiss to his shoulder warmed him in parts of his soul he didn’t realise were cold. “What was that you said before?”

“That you blacked out?”

“No, the Russian.” Dean watched in interest as Castiel’s face coloured.

“Nothing important, just words.”

“I'm not your little cabbage or anything I hope?” Dean liked the rumble deep in Castiel's chest. He didn’t for one second believe him and resolved to use google translate at his earliest convenience, he just had to remember and be able to spell any of it. But first, sleep. He smiled when Cas curled up tight behind him, tucking Dean’s head under his chin.

“Roughly translated, I now possess your beautiful perfection.” Cas whispered into his hair as he drifted off. Dean’s body quelled in exquisite pleasure from the uttered words.

 

**

 

Dean woke in a haze, eyes bleary and mouth dry - he was also alone. In a panic he felt the bed beside him, still warm -  _ not a dream then _ . Was Cas here still or had he disappeared - his usual trick? Then Dean smelt it - freshly brewed coffee, Sam didn’t touch the stuff so he knew who was the cause of the almost erotic smell of brewed beans.

Cas toed the door open a moment later and Dean (who wanted to look asleep) lay there, wide eyed and blushing instead. Why he was embarrassed was anyone's guess, especially since Cas had destroyed him only hours earlier. There was nothing left to be coy or shy about. Not really.

Cas wore nothing but a pair of obscenely tight black undershorts; brandishing two steaming cups.  _ Bloody hell  _ \- Dean curled a knee up, his hardening cock  _ not  _ just his body's normal morning wood, not in the face of all the pale skin, taut muscle and lack of body fat. Castiel was packing the body of an athlete, one Dean craved to touch again.

“Not having cream is sacrilege.” Cas grunted, placing one of the cups on Deans side of the bed.

Dean couldn’t help the ball of laughter that welled. After everything, after the silent treatment, then falling on his ass drunk at Dean’s doorstep, then the incredible mind altering sex - his first proper sober words in a week were about the lack of dairy in Dean’s fridge.

“Priorities, Cas.”

“Beer is not a priority. Plus how many times do I have to tell you my name is Castiel?”

“I’m pretty sure you like the way I say your name,” Dean teased. 

Almost instantaneously Cas was on the bed, pushing Dean to his back, hands pressed against his shoulders. Dean's body shivered with uncontrollable need. Cas clearly felt it, judging by the smirk.

“I do admit I like your mouth when you say it.”

“Why do you hate it?” Dean managed as Cas ground into him.

“What? Your mouth?” Cas sassed.

“Don't be smart. The nickname?” 

Cas pulled back a little, “I don't hate it.”

“Well, you seem to take issue with it, quite a lot actually.”

Castiel went quiet for a moment eyes inscrutable. “No issue.”

Dean waited. Cas didn't elaborate and instead leaned down to capture Dean's lips with his, the kiss deepened in seconds to something frantic, something they were allowed to have now—the daylight making things much more  _ real. _

When Castiel pulled away, Dean followed, capturing lips; moaning into the heat of his mouth. The brunette chuckled; finally untangling himself from Dean before stalking to the other side of the room. Dean watched, eyes hooded.

“I need you to sit on the edge of the bed. Right on the edge,” Castiel spoke low, Dean complied immediately, “Now lie back, spread your legs a little.”

Dean’s breathing sharpened at Castiel’s short commands. The brunette stood against Dean’s dresser a good six feet away, still wearing those maddenly tight shorts, bulge deliciously out of reach. Dean meanwhile, lay butt naked, exposed and practically panting for the next order.  _ This was bliss. _

“Now raise your legs up, like you’re about to hug them.” Castiel waited while Dean moved, feeling vulnerable yet energised. “Well done. Now spread them, use the lube near your head then grab your cock.”

The first touch of his hand was electric, warm, slick and  _ so _ fucking good. More so for the blue eyes riveted to his hand. Dean waited.

“I want you to jerk off, and I  _ don't  _ want you to come. Not yet.”

Dean started to twist, slow and concise, knowing Cas was watching every stroke, every shudder and every deep breath. The ragged inhale from across the room spurred him on to go faster and tighter. His legs dropped further to the side as he lost himself in Castiel's heavy gaze, sensations swirling through his gut. Dean spared a moment to wonder how debauched and wanton he must appear to Cas. It flew out a moment later when a questing thumb slid over his hole.

“Cas…” he wrung from his stomach,  _ fuck _ . The feeling of the thick digit pressing into his opening, sublime. “More.”

“Greedy,” the thumb disappeared making Dean sigh and wriggle with loss. “Did I tell you to stop?”

Dean hadn’t even realised he’d done so. Needing to please Castiel, he gripped himself tight, looking up to meet his eyes. The Russian phrases this time had nothing to do with beautiful words, it was all swearing and guttural. _ He adored it. _

The thumb traced around Dean’s hole, slowly, torturously. Wonderfully. Cas pushed in, and kept pushing - the lube he’d snuck onto his hand ensured he slid into Dean’s heat easily. The noise that escaped his throat grew needier as the pressure increased. Dean’s ass was still stretched from their earlier play, yet tight enough for a delicious burn to pool in his stomach.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep himself in check. He knew how to stave off an upcoming orgasm, but Cas teasing him open while doing so - well, he wasn’t sure.

Then Castiel’s lips joined his fingers and Dean flew up off the bed, almost smacking the cooks head.

“Whoa, easy tiger. Just relax.” Cas gave a gentle lick around Dean’s loosening hole. “Dean, I’ll take care of you. But I still didn't tell you to stop jerking that gorgeous cock.”

Dean hummed at the words, then fell apart as Cas pushed deeply into him, tongue swirling and questing, reaching areas he couldn’t fathom. Before he could come all over his stomach, because Cas was relentless with his ministrations, the brunette stood up. Dean whined until he realised Cas was shucking his underwear, the lazy tugs of his cock sending sparks up his spine.

The condom came from nowhere and Cas looked Dean in the eyes while he lubed up.  _ This man… _ Dean was certain neither his ass nor his heart were ever going to be the same again. He was ok with that.

A bluntness pressed against Dean and Castiel's deep sigh of contentment reached his ears. He pushed in.

Dean lost himself to Castiel on top, fucking down into him, the weight and angle perfection.

Tingling began in his gut. “Cas can I…”

“Not yet…” the words grunted, Cas’s blue eyes hidden behind his lids.

Dean, entranced, watched as Cas came undone, stroke after stroke, knowing he was the one gifting the pleasure. His mind dove from one thought to the next, clenching his stomach, desperate to stave off his impending orgasm.

Castiel's incessant pounding quickened, the gasps loud, obscene. Absolute.

“Now.” Cas barked the word and Dean, needy and frantic had no trouble letting go, come splattering over his stomach, up to his chest and beyond. 

What seemed like an hour but in all likelyhood would have been ten seconds, Cas slid delicately from Dean, cupping his face and leaving a sweet lingering kiss on the side of his mouth. Dean smiled tiredly in return, seeing Castiel's blue eyes crinkled in affection.

“I hope you enjoy tepid coffee.”

Dean could only laugh.

 

**

 

It was almost a week later and Dean busied himself in the kitchen while Cas sat at the counter, watching him. They had spent the last seven days exploring, learning and of all things, talking. It was electric the way the cook had burst into his life with a vividness and clarity he didn't realise he was lacking. The evening before, they'd watched TV, snuggled on the couch, then spent most of the night bringing each other to the brink before relenting just before dawn. Cas finally allowing Dean to come, but only after pleading out a promise he'd cook breakfast for them. Hence Dean was being watched while he moved around the kitchen. At first he felt under scrutiny, like Cas was going to judge him on how he did things. But the brunette seemed content to keep his gaze on Dean as he prepared Bobby’s famous chili scrambled eggs with sausage. Dean chatted away about Sam and his restoration work, careful not to speak about anything too important, else he ruin the gentle fragility the week had brought them. Castiel's laugh was truly a gift; Dean relished each time he managed to tease it from him, he had an inkling it wasn’t something Cas did often. 

They sat in companionable silence as they ate, Cas's approving moans at Dean’s cooking making their way below his sleep pants. Was there anything Cas did that didn’t make his cock twitch?  _ Probably not.  _

Dean took a sip of fresh coffee and sat back, smile soft as he watched Cas eat the last of his breakfast. This, he could get used to, the domesticity of the scene, sharing space with this extraordinary man.

Cas jolted him from his thoughts. “Do you know why I treated you with sheer dislike at first?”

Dean waited a beat before quipping, “Because I'm amazingly annoying.”

“Well yes, but apart from that?” At Dean's small shake of the head he took a deep breath, “I moved here to get away from complications. Artiçunos was a cesspool of malignant people, and then on top of that... my family…” He huffed out a breath making his fringe dance, “my family… let's tackle that later. But I get here, free, untethered, looking for absolutely nothing but endless silence, and the first thing I see is  _ you _ .”

Dean had no words, Castiel had never spoken to him like this,  _ ever _ \- he didn't want to break the spell by saying something inane like, ‘your eyes remind me of blue balloons, taut before they burst’.

Castiel held his gaze a moment, searching before running a hand through his hair. “Big, Disney Princess green eyes and a smart mouth. You called me Cas right off the bat, as if we were something familiar, something warm. I fucking hated you, you made me feel things I didn't want to feel, you made me face shit I had every intention of ignoring for the rest of my life. You charmed me with your jokes, your spark for life, your goddamn smirk. And  _ then  _ you practically beg for me to dominate you and let me play. And I was fucking gone, how could I keep up my ‘hate’ for you when all I wanted to do was take care of you afterwards, talk to you, get to know you.”

“You could have just asked, you know?”

“Could I have though?” Cas quietened for a moment, “I'm complicated,” he finished, regret curdling his voice.

Dean reached out, hoping he wasn't over stepping boundaries when he squeezed the brunette's hand. “Castiel, you are  _ not _ complicated - no more than anyone else. You like me, and I like you. The sex is phenomenal and I freaking adore what you do,  _ when _ you do it. I'm pretty certain you return my sentiments.”

“Adore… well I guess, when you put it that way,” Cas gave him a genuine smile, squeezing his hand back. “You can call me Cas, you know—officially.”

It sideswiped Dean, a freight train sized realisation - he was unequivocally hopelessly in love with Cas Novak.

He should freak out, he should  _ be  _ freaking out. He wasn't. It felt right. Naming the billowing sensation which flew through his body each time he was in Castiel's orbit was freeing, in a way that stole Dean's breath.

There was also no way he was going to say anything, not when things were so new,  unblemished. He didn't want to mess anything up with a complicated early love confession.

“Care to fill me in on your trip to New York?” He said instead of, ‘oh hey, I just discovered I need you more than breathing’.

Cas gave him a side-on look, Dean in turn sipped from his cup, having learnt if he waited Cas out, he’d talk eventually. He was certain the cook wouldn’t scream at him and walk away - they were well beyond that now.

“I’ll tell you all about it one day, want to tell you, actually. Which in itself is a novelty.”

Dean nodded, not at all surprised Castiel didn't want to share something so personal with him. He tried not to let the hurt show.

“Fuck, I need to, it's only fair. So, my brother Michael….” He exhaled, ignoring Dean's small jolt of surprise. “He, uh...”

“You don't have to.” Dean said seeing how much Castiel struggled voicing it.

“No. It's ok. I think I need to tell somebody. Somebody I trust.”

Dean practically melted at the words, Cas trusted him. 

“I was young, foolish and in love.” He let out a self depreciating huff, “well, I thought it was love.”

Dean stilled, questions already wanting to escape. He knew Cas had lived and loved before, Dean was only human and jealousy was a natural reaction. He skittered away from his new found feelings in the face of this.

“Michael, always one for appearances, was not… fond of my lifestyle choices.”

The tone in Castiel's voice was bland as if reciting a news article, clearly having gone over this countless times. It resonated with emptiness. Dean hated Michael already.

“Long story short, he paid Blake to 'disappear’ which, as only a man completely besotted with me would do - he vanished. Greek Islands I think.”

“Shit, Cas…” Dean trailed off not really having the words of comfort. Sure it hadn't been easy coming out to his family, but after Bobby's silent gruff acceptance, everyone else was a piece of cake. He'd lost some friends, kept some and made new ones. But he never had to worry about family sabotaging him or anyone he wanted to date - it was unthinkable. As was the thought somebody would willingly leave Castiel.

“My other brother, Gabriel.” Cas let out a long exhale, “he's the one who called the other night. He… he knew what Michael planned - and didn't tell me.”

“Oh?” Dean breathed.

“I now know, how difficult of a situation he was put in, hindsight is a wonderfully painful thing. If he'd told me Michael's plans, I would have headed Blake off at the pass and never knew he could be brought for money. Never knew how easy it was for him to leave me. Gabe for all his faults, knew exactly what he was doing by staying silent - he always was the smart one.”

Dean’s hands tighten into fists, fuming at this asshole Blake. But ultimately feeling guilty he was glad it happened. If not, Dean would never have met Cas. 

“But you went to New York when Gabe called - what changed?”

Cas rubbed his face, looking tired. “Nothing. Everything. I had loose ends to tidy up and Gabe was the lesser of three evils to deal with.”

“Three?”

“Naomi, Mother - Matriarch.” Cas stopped talking completely, then glanced at Dean. “And that's about all I can bare talking about today. Ultimately everything turned out just as it should, but family turning on you so easily, that is something you don't get over quickly. Or ever.” Castiel went quiet, looking at Dean through his eye lashes, a strange vulnerability on his face. “But I think in time I'd like you to meet Gabe.”

Dean's chest tightened. Meeting someone from Cas's family was momentous. Did this mean Cas wanted something long term, short term, any term? He'd take anything at this point just to be in Cas’s trajectory. Dean realised in his frantic thought process he actually hadn't said anything in return. Please don't blurt out something like,  _ I'd be charmed. _

“I'd like that.” He replied instead.

 

**

 

Three months later, Dean stood on the sidewalk wiping his eyes,  _ damn sand _ . Castiel grasped his shoulder, squeezing it before leaving a chaste kiss on his temple.

“I’ll go grab a beer - meet you on the deck?”

“Sure,” Dean managed to strangle out from a too tight throat.

Sam’s car disappeared over the horizon.  _ Boston _ . It could have been worse, but it was still too far. He shuddered at the memory of Castiel's suggestion to fly there - in a  _ plane _ . Looked like his ‘baby’ would be seeing a few road trips in the future to visit Sam at school.

After another ten minutes of swallowing the thickness in his throat, Dean made his way to the backyard. 

He let a deep breath escape at what he found there. Cas, sitting on the outdoor lounge, feet up on the railing, beers open on the deck - waiting for Dean. He looked over with a smile, unrestricted and completely for Dean. Words welled in his throat, making a valiant attempt to breakout. But he wasn’t ready, he needed to hold onto them a little longer.

In the end, Dean didn't  _ need _ to make a declaration of love, not right now. He could see his affection returned tenfold in Castiel's eyes, especially when he whispered, “I'm not going anywhere, I'm here—always.”

Dean sank to the chair and into Castiel, who kissed his lips tenderly, eyes shining.

“I know.” Dean replied.

They sat in silence for the moment, enjoying the waning sunshine paired with their warming beers. Content to be at each other's side. Dean went inside to grab another beer with Castiel in close pursuit. “ Where’s your apron?’ Dean raised an eyebrow at the question.  Cas did not disappoint. ‘I'm going to tie you to the bed frame and make you come until you see stars.”

Dean jerked, immediately pointing to his apron hanging on the hook without question. Castiel strode over, stalking back toward Dean who could only stand mesmerised at the man before him. 

Cas had him in the bedroom, naked and practically panting in under ten seconds.

“After this, I'm taking you out to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Dean gasped as Cas grabbed his wrist, starting to tie him to the bedpost.

“Well I figure I should take you out on a proper date, somewhere other that the Roadhouse. Show you my intentions are true and not always nefarious, dominant and kinky.”

“Well I'd say your intentions are crystal clear right now.” Dean rasped as the apron dug in when Cas tightened both arms above his head. He sat back dragging his gaze over Dean for the longest time.

“Perfection. You, Dean Winchester. You're the most incredible man on the planet. And you're mine.”

“Yours.” Dean confirmed, giddy with anticipation, for not only the immediate future but far beyond.

Dean smiled as everything clicked into place.

  
End  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for joining me on this little kitchenAU adventure.
> 
> These boys are ridiculously fun to write (and I loved starting to explore Dean's, 'Cas' sized kink). I also couldn't help the fluff... I mean, after everything they've been put through, they deserve a bit of a break. 
> 
> Huge thanks as always to darter_blue who makes EVERYTHING better!!
> 
> Now off to tackle the other 400 random plot bunnies which are running wild in the backyard!  
> (Hmmm maybe a ZooAU next... can totally see Cas fiercely protecting a wild beehive which is in the sunbears habitat, while Dean is lusting after him from his Meercat enclosure...)
> 
> Until next time!! :)


End file.
